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“The most beautiful
stories always start with wreckage.” -Jack London
“How in the hell could you have given me your heart?” I wondered aloud. “Because you’re the one who taught it to beat again.”
Just like an animal, perhaps even a caged or lost one, my heart had instincts. Instincts learned over the course of many years, honed by pain, and mostly muted by sorrow.
Our pain was different, but it was
both deep and crushing, a thief of the lives we once knew.
Being a survivor made every moment, every kind word a little more meaningful, because they were the ones who knew what almost never was.
