Can words be broken?
I am me. I am not going to give you my name, but I will give you more. You will know where I live and where I am growing up. You will know what age I might have, you will know about my siblings and what kind of music I am into. I will tell you about God and how He saves me. You will read everything about me, except for the things that don’t actually matter. Like my name for example. You can name me however you like, I listen to all names people call me anyways. You could call me Blossom, for example. I mean, that is not my name of course. You could call me Rosa, Melany, Honey, Darling, whatever floats your boat. It’s up to you. But if I ever got to choose what you want to name me in your head, I’d prefer something with a flowerish twist. Flowers have always fascinated me.
Maybe this is just something I won’t be able to keep up with, a blog that will be forgotten and neglected, a website that will fade between million others. Something I might delete later. But for now, this is where I set myself free.
I will give you my words.
My words are actually my thoughts. Like, the things I feel and whatever my head keeps spinning about. I will let my secrets out here; I will tell you my desires and how I experience things. You will know about Him, and him, and her, and her… Sounds confusing, right? Don’t worry. I will give them names. Not their actual names of course. I will talk about Bear, Apple, Girl. I haven’t decided what I am going to name them. Like an online diary, a journal. Maybe I will put some personal messages here. Perhaps they will read it, perhaps they won’t. But I don’t think it matters. Just the idea of my letters being out there, somewhere on the world wide internet is already satisfying enough for me. This page is all about whatever goes around in my head. And I will free myself fully; you will get to know me. And my words.
I am my words.
And unfurtinately I break easily. So yes, Words can break. Especially promises.
Pink Blossoms and Broken
I broke promises. Sometimes those hurt myself, sometimes they hurt others. But this page is about more than just the broken pieces of shattered glass that’s made out of false words that people shoved up to my throat, so it spreads in my lungs and flow through all my veins. There are days my pink blossoms shine too. Some days I am in love, some days I am broken by love.
But the most beautiful, precious and absolutely most slow process ever,
is the proces of a broken heart healing itself.
And, because I am humble and can’t do anything without Him,
Its all powered by the Lord and my Saviour,
This is Pink Blossoms and Broken Words. And if your random googling at 2am when you couldn’t sleep helped you end up here, I want to welcome you at my diary.