JOURNAL ENTRY: 20191117.
Suddenly sad poems don’t define me anymore and I no longer find comfort in heart-breaking sentence. There is still a black hole inside me, albeit a small one, and it’s dancing with all the sparks of happiness.
I am where I belong, I guess. The current me still feels wrong, the path of my life still seems to be so messy—but I am healing, growing toward happiness.
It took a lot of sacrifices, a great deal of self-acceptance. To know that the way you can be happy is not the same with how other people describe happiness, and that’s okay.
You will grow into that tree you drew in one of your journal pages, purple leaves greeting the golden sky and your roots dive deep under water. You are you, that’s your happiness.