In memory of the things that cannot be said (yet), as they would hurt too much; in memory of tiny-big obsessions that take over relationships; in acceptance of what’s behind them.
In acceptance. Of a carusel-like life. One day, I’m in control of my life; the other day, I pick up the broken glass.
In hope of serenity.
In promise of better choice of words. Wiser used words.
Words can’t set you free. Digging deep inside can. Evolve or live with the same grey monsters (that could perpetuate further).
So say what you need to say.