in the absence of the sun

Reality smokes about a thousand packs of them a day, never pausing to consider what opportunities he would have if he quit, what the world would become if he wasn’t addicted to lighting them up only to inhale one puff and then stub them out, reaching for another to waste because each new one is more fresh than the last ​​​​​ -our dreams

And then I see the fallen ones and it makes me wonder if they were knocked down or if they didn’t have the strength to stay rooted to the ground ​​​​​ -I understand now that some roots are just too weak

Thank you for being my armor ​​​​​ even on the days when my battle cry was “it’s impossible”