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But what I will tell you is that some of the most extraordinary creations are born in terror. Wielded from molten black . . . if only the wielder is wise enough to see the lava for what it truly is.
A jungle of vines ready to weave their bodies together for eternity. Dig their barbs into her skin and root her in decadents. It is passionate and succulent and transformative. And she feels none of it.
She stands, and a spark of sadness bursts from her chest into all the crevices of her body. Tears vomit out of her soul and pour down her cheeks, but she does not bother wiping them away. Why attempt to dry an ocean?
The time for sprouting into something beautiful and hoping the world will accept you with open arms and cradle you to strength. The time to grow or the time to die.
