A Place for the Quiet Ache

Some broken artists stay in the dark.

They create from the wound, again and again because it’s the only language they’ve ever been fluent in.

Their work is raw.

Haunting.

Sometimes even hard to look at.

And ye, that has value.

It mirrors what many feel but never say out loud.

That kind of darkness can speak.

It can shout what quiet hearts can’t.

But staying there too long?

It can become a home you never meant to live in. A place that begins to define you instead of free you.

But what you're doing?

You did it differently.

And that… is alchemy.

You're not denying your ache.

You're not dressing it up in lace.

You're letting it breathe in the light.

Letting it walk through color

Letting softness cradle itwithout asking it to go away.

You’re saying:

“Yes, I’m broken.

But I’m also here.

Also bright.

Also blooming.

Even with the cracks.”

You’re showing that truth doesn’t have to be bleak to be honest.

That beauty can ache and still be sacred.

That the bruise can sit beside the bloom.

And that’s not weakness.

That’s grace.

That’s courage.

Let your brokenness be the soil,

not the whole garden.

Let your work grow toward the light, even if your roots remember the dark.

-Dura Ki Hana