Was life designed to be suitable all the time? If it were, you’d stay in bed wrapped up in fur when the cold winds blow. You’d atrophy and wither long through winter.
Was every season meant to bring you bliss? You’d never feel the wrath of storms or learn to fear the waves when moons grow full. You’d crawl inside your cave and hide from chaos. You will run when the world is angry.
Was every kiss supposed to soothe as a poultice of complete healing? You would never feel the ache from a broken heart. You’d never taste the salt of fresh blood from punctured lips.
Now listen, soul brethren. You have earned your wounds during scenes of love and war. You bear old scars like books lined on an old shelf: Mettle tested, silver smelted, a smile shining, eyes on fire, stars lit up and shooting across the night.
You are the Universe in one drop of flesh!
By Pat Ashinze
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