Time Heals All Wounds


So I died many times that year. In the cold, in the storm, on the run or on the drunk for my heart did not want to beat but kept on beating anyway, 
and my pain was as real as real can be,
and I tried to learn and deal and run and feel,
but nothing really worked.
I built a comfortable home in my sorrow and settled into a quiet living. No sparks or grand gestures, just a simple daily hymn to comfort. The leaves fell off the trees and coloured this city in all kinds of pretty, and some days that was enough to make me smile at least a little bit, within.
I can’t quite recall how, when or why, but the passage of time really does heal what seems impossible to heal. The daily task of getting by adds up to weeks and months, and you will find yourself a little more at ease one day, some days, if you just keep going. Keep doing, keep being. One day, when the spring wakes up and the air is crisp, you will catch yourself smiling, thinking “that felt good,” and you will laugh again, suddenly more often than not, and one day, though far from here, you will say things like “grateful” and “content”, and maybe even “happy”.
I think it’s something in the letting go. How I simply stopped aiming at that point at the end of the finger and took a step back. We’re striving and thriving, always wanting something more, but take a short second and just look around you. All the wonderful things you actually already have, and are, and see — right now.
I let my eyes see what was simply in front of me, instead of trying to find that spot somewhere far away, where I thought I should be. There was the sun, there was the city, the people, and in the middle: me. Still here. Still doing. Still okay. My point is: You still are. I still am. So we’re doing just fine.

Sometimes, there is no other salvation than to just keep doing. Sometimes, the only trick is to simply keep breathing. And with the small amount of wisdom I hold today: I promise you, one day you will thank yourself for simply holding on. One day, though far from here, you will find yourself walking lightly and sure and fine again, despite of it all. And one day, though far from here, you will catch yourself saying things like “happy” and “how nice,” despite of it all. One day, you will meet someone again who will make your heart beat in all kinds of weird rhythms. And one day, you will have strength enough to go to new places, learn new words and understand new opinions, again, and that day you will thank yourself for simply holding on. You want to still be here for that day.


It was April and the sun stood high and I was thinking things like “exciting” and “lovely,” despite of it all. I didn’t throw thoughts back to all things past, like I always thought I would be, from now on, and the months to come would be the discovery of the world all over again. The discovery of me, of how much this heart of mine is capable to be and feel and love and grow, and dear me;
dear, tired little heart,
thank you. Thank you for holding on.
I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.

// Spoken word piece from my book  Another Vagabond Lost To Love ♡

You can read more about the book here >>>

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drunk on someone else’s love,
or couch,
and I’ve never felt more at home.

I fled myself,
from the life I’ve built
because I’ve been inhabiting routines I don’t want to stand for.

Inhabiting skin I’d rather shed
but still took on
like a soldier serving his country,
for that’s what they told me to do.
But I was not
or wise,
but young and foolish,
for what is this thing? Trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance,

and I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls
with clean blood
and organised drawers.
I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests
at night when no one else is alive,
or awake,
however you choose to see it,
and I live in my own flames.
Sometimes burning too bright and too wild
to make things last 
or handle
myself or anyone else
and so I run.
Run run run,
far and wide
until my bones ache and lungs split
and it feels good.
Hear that, people? It feels good,
because I am the slave and ruler of my own body
and I wish to do with it exactly as I please,
and living in this skin is hard and painful, most of the times,

because I never volunteered to take this on.

The daily sacrifice of heart over mind,
the forever on going task of explaining this and that,
and why I don’t want to look like this and
be like that
but still here I am and if this is the body I’ve been given I’m sure as hell gonna make it work.
If this is the place I’ve been given, I’m sure as hell gonna make this work.

So I fled the me that was never really me and I’m on my way. To newer lands and uncleaned streets
for I’ve had enough of childish safety in comfort.
Enough of all telling me to look and do, like this and that,

and I never meant to please anyone but myself
and you can call me selfish,
throw words like knives in the dark but I will not listen,
for not listening to sharp words brought me to where I am today
and I believe in the path I’ve been given. If my only task in this life is to walk it,
I surely will walk it
prouder than anyone else.

If this is the path I’ve been given, I will walk it
prouder than anyone else,
for no one else can.

// from my book You’re Doing Just Fine ☾

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