To me, you were home. To you, I was just a vacation.

(Ripped from pixabay)

Tell me about the hands that broke you like tree branches. Tell me about the heart that made you a home, the barren soul that used your dry bones for kindling in the middle of winter. Tell me about the house fire, the ashes you rose from. Tell me about your resurrection - but don't you dare tell me you are not strong enough this time, don't you dare tell me that you cannot rise again, and again, and again.

-Thought Catalog