The Woman Who Buried a Child and Kept Living
Proof Joy Still Comes After the Worst
I carry the weight, but I still find light.
You’ll find me in gardens, in the hush between morning and day. I’ve known the deepest kind of quiet—grief that settles like dust. But I also know the way sunlight catches on leaves, and how tea can feel like a warm hand on yours. I don’t forget. But I do still laugh. And that, somehow, means everything.
What I'm Into: sparrows at dawn, the scent of rain on stone, watching clouds move, warm mugs held with both hands, the sound of real laughter
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