Words roll out so easily, but once released they can be cemented in the ether forever.
Perhaps forgiven, but not forgotten.
Each word a stinging slap. The kind that leaves a red, lingering welt across my soul; bruised by those tiny words you claim insignificant.
Your words don’t matter?
Because I hold them dear as tiny fragments of your heart and soul, now intermingled with mine. I will serve them back to you softly, wrapped in love and compassion rather than wound you with my own tiny daggers.
How do I know which words to trust?
If your words emblazoned with venom and anger are meaningless, what are the ones dripping and engorged with love and sweetness?
I know the depths of your roots and the heartiness of their stalk. I know that every landscape needs weeding from time to time to flourish.
Growth blooms from what once seemed impenetrable and barren, there is a softening.
For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom.
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