Love is…

Love is your childhood home. Your favourite part on the couch, the same chair at the kitchen table.

Love is your worn in sweater, the way it smells after you hang it to dry in the garden.

Love is the creak in the stairs, the hook in the entryway you always hang your coat on.

Leaving makes a mess of it all, it rearranges things. Suddenly, the couch is different, and your favourite chair is broken. Your worn in sweater is torn, the clothing lines in the backyard have been blown down by wind. Suddenly, the stairs are quiet in the night, the hook is on the other side of room.

Healing forces you to move. Forces you to buy a different couch, forces you to replace the chair. Healing stitches together your worn in sweater, patches it with new fabric, pieces of another story. Healing forces you to embrace the silence in the steps, the fact that you have to hang your coat in a different place from now on. Healing forces you to change, to leave behind the familiar. Healing forces you to rebuild.

-@rainbowsalt (source: @thoughtscatalog)


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