Bookmarked

The needle that stitches my wounds is the same that unspools my veins, So I hold it, not to heal, but to carve A painting of pain, of fragrance, of forgotten tales. 

Some days, you just sit still while everything around you turns into chaos, like you're standing in the middle of a storm.

Reading Beloved is like walking through a dream and a nightmare at once. It demands attention, reflection, and empathy