Trail of Broken Wings

by Sejal Badani

Each image serves as a reminder that a light shines through so many people, and yet, no matter how far I run, I cannot seem to escape my shadow.

Heroes are not born or created. They become so in the passing moments of life.

Each stem of the rosebush intertwines with the others, a medley of splendor. Like life, it is exquisiteness intermixed with thorns. A prick if you touch without caution. People often make the mistake of believing the rose’s magnificence is just in the flower, failing to see the whole picture. But the thorn is there to protect, to keep the rose safe.

Energy doesn’t stand still; it moves, shifts with time. I think maybe we are meant to do the same, to see the world not as we fear it is but as we hope for it to be—kinder, gentler, each lesson not meant to destroy but to enable. To learn that we are not stagnant, but rather move with those around us, each one of us melting into the other, becoming one though our bodies separate us. Our hurts and our joys are meant to be shared, the burden easier when another holds your hand.

home is not a place or a lifestyle, but the state of your heart and all the people who take their place in it.