I want to spend this year falling in love with life again.
I want to be able to look outside and see the beauty in everything.
You see this life is short, and we are only here for a moment.
If you look hard enough you’ll see that the moment is in everything.
It comes in the form of a whisper, it overpowers the noise and welcomes the calm.
It settles the madness of the heart and reveals the power of the soul.
We must remember the sprinkles of sunlight on a cloudy day or the way a flower seems to bloom effortlessly.
I think we have started to forget how precious our lives are, we’ve spent years running from place to place
Working hard to fill a God-shaped hole.
Refusing to surrender because we fear the unknown.
I want to tell you that the most beautiful things are found in the unseen.
Hold onto them dear one, let them echo in the darkest depths of your soul.
We are beautiful beings of light, we are meant to shine.
In a world that tries to hide you, I pray that every night you will have the courage to outshine what tried to bury you.
Love,
Lily
About the Creator
Lily Pearl M. Yang
My name is Lily, I’m a storyteller from Chicago IL.
I hope my words speak to you, and serve you.
Love you.
More work can be found on my instagram. lily.p.yang
Keep reading
More stories from Lily Pearl M. Yang and writers in Poets and other communities.
Where the woods breathe.
The woods don't shout like cities do, they speak in hush and hum, in leaf-tongue whispers overhead, in the beat of beetle drums. Sunlight spills in broken gold, caught on every seam, stitching shadows to the ground like pieces of a dream. The trees stand tall as ancient thought, their roots curled. Their branches writing quiet maps of an older, softer world. A breeze turns pages in the ferns, the moss remembers rain, and somewhere far, a wood thrush calls a silver, bending strain. If you walk slow, the forest knows. It matches breath for breath,lends you its calm, unknots your chest,and steals your hurrys weight. for in the woods,time loosebs up,becomes a drifting thing. Just light and bark and steady heart and everything listening. and when you leave, a part remains, tied to root and hood. a small, green pulse you carry home: the quiet of the woods.
By Siatola Weaver5 days ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.