Claim your space. Draw a circle of light around it. Push back against the dark. Don't
just survive. Celebrate.
He tried to name which of the deadly seven might apply, and when he failed he decided to append an eighth, regret.
What you have lost will not be returned to you; it always be lost. You’re left with only your scars to mark the void. All you can choose to do is go on, or not. But if you go on, it’s knowing you carry your scars with you.
They call this war a cloud over the land. But they made the weather and then they stand in the rain and say 'Shit, it's raining!
Ask her what she craved, and she'd get a little frantic about things like books, the woods, music. Plants and the seasons. Also freedom. Not being bought and sold by some idiot employer, not having the moments of her days valued in fractions of a dollar by somebody other than herself.
That's just pain she said. It goes eventually. And when it's gone, there's no lasting memory. Not the worst of it anyway. It fades. Our minds aren't made to hold on to the particulars of pain the way we do bliss. It's a gift God gives us, a sign of His care for us.