In love, a horizon appears; in struggle, a backbone grows. The journey to meet oneself starts with a small mutiny, refusing to abandon the truth when old habits beg for anesthesia.
Demons rarely breathe fire; they whisper instructions that once kept things safe: disappear before being left, perform before being seen, control before being hurt.
Name them. Thank them. Reassign them. Let Perfection become an editor, not a judge. Let Catastrophe run checks after the breath returns. Let Perform step aside when intimacy enters.
Peace isn’t a victory parade; it’s a daily treaty to speak to the self as a guest worth keeping, to replace punishment with repair, and to choose a horizon that requires tenderness more than armor.
The point is not to become invulnerable, but to become trustworthy, especially when the sirens start.
Keep walking.
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