To the girl with the gasoline heart and the matchstick, reckless grin, living life like a frantic art, letting all the wrong ones in. I see you there, a beautiful storm, chasing highs in shadowed places, seeking anything to keep you warm in hollow, temporary embraces.
You gave your love to careless hands, your trust to those who couldn’t hold it. You built your dreams on changing sands and wept each time the current rolled it. You searched for kings in pauper’s clothes, for truth in every silver lie, and wondered why the garden never rose, beneath a cold and empty sky.
But listen close, my wild-fire dear, from sixty-four, the view is clearer now. Each mistake you make, each falling tear, is carving strength upon your brow. That impulsive flame you cannot tame, that fierce refusal to be small, will one day be the power in your name, the force that helps you conquer all.
Those men who broke you piece by piece were simply teaching you to build. They taught you what was not your peace, the kind of silence to be filled not with another’s noisy pride, but with the quiet of your soul, with knowing you have naught to hide, and you, alone, can make you whole.
So don’t you dare apologize for all the messes or the falls. Those were the lessons in disguise that taught you how to build your walls, not to keep the whole world out, but just to choose who walks inside. They tempered you, removed the doubt, and left you with nowhere to hide from your own light.
Go on and burn. Go on and break. Go on and make the choices I recall. For every misstep that you make is why I learned to stand up tall. You are the chisel, I’m the stone, the fierce beginning of my story. And one day, you won’t be alone, you’ll be a legend in all her glory.
And she is me. I’m waiting for you.
Pam Beach ‘Beyond the Blog’
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