Therapy Bits

In the quiet corners of the mind,

the past lingers,

a whisper, a shadow,

etching its patterns on the heart.

Wounds, like ancient relics,

carry stories of trauma,

each a brushstroke in the vast canvas of existence,

where sadness seeps like color,

filling the cracks of memories.

Feelings rise like uninvited guests,

their weight a constant reminder

of the battles fought,

of nights spent wrestling the ghosts of PTSD,

a silent war,

fought in the solitude of the self,

where pain becomes a familiar friend,

and alone is a place of refuge

as much as despair.

Yet in the haze of the struggle,

the act of recovery blooms, tentative,

like a flower pushing through concrete,

reaching for light.

Healing transforms the palette,

each hue a promise,

a possibility unbound,

as I paint a new picture

with the colors of resilience,

daubs of hope against the dark.

With every stroke,

I redefine my landscape,

carving out spaces for joy amidst the shadows,

finding beauty in the cracks,

where light spills in and reveals

that even the deepest sadness

can be woven into tapestries,

a testament to survival,

a mural of strength.

https://mymindmappings.com/2024/11/19/fowc-with-fandango-wound/