His 30th birthday passed.
And, just like the hurricane, black out.
I received no calls.

I can still feel pieces of him piercing my hurting heart, but not leaving as deep of a wound as he did for the past four suffocating years.
Tears are threatening to well up my tired eyes, but I summon strength from somewhere above and remind myself I ought to go to sleep to avoid poofy eyes in the morning.
There is much to be said of weakness shadowing greatness because it could easily overpower anything depending on where the sunlight hits.
It is a cycle I am trying desperately to diffuse, praying hard that each moment shall leave me standing straight with my shoulders back and head high.
I long for brighter days, not dragging days where I can barely get up out of bed and become engulfed by daydreams or relived sad sentiments.
There is a fighter inside me wanting to explode in magnificent beauty, like a butterfly’s grace after hibernating inside a cocoon.

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