In my years of struggle to be good and in the midst of the storm when there seems to be no way out but to drown, what kept me afloat was the thought of you. You were, will, and always be hope.
You came to me on a sunny afternoon when I thought of writing my sorrows away on that little bench no one seemed to like because it looks old and not pretty but then again, neither was I.
Just like how I came to love sitting on that stupid little bench, you also came to love learning about who this stupid little lady was and it was all the magic I needed to believe.
To stay.
YOU ARE READING
When flowers start to bloom
PoetryThis book talks about the beauty of gratefulness, the grace in falling, and the glory of dusting off your dress and standing up again.
