Strange how we decorate pain – Margret Atwood
to whom it may Concern
I refuse to address this to him. I mean, there’s nothing left to say. So i will just do this to heal and tuck the letter deep in my books as if it were a book mark.
Am hurting but I refuse to wither, i refuse to see my heart getting blown away by the wind because it’s not together no more. I shall pick up the rose, i don’t care how much blood my fingers shed from the prick of the thorns. It doesn’t matter if the sun refuses to shine, i will create fall in winter. An illusion of something i forget is just an illusion but something i must believe.
Eden met me yesterday, She said I was looking fly. I said its only the Genesis of a new month and something beautiful. She didn’t get chance to see the thorns because i kept my head raised so that the sun would reflect on my eyes and cause the to shine. I mean, it’s a month of love, not a month to hate. it Doesnt matter what you are loving, we just roll.