You have to stitch together wholeness from scraps, from hunger, from rage. You have to turn that yearning into rebellion. Into movement. Into fuel.

You can’t wait for some lightning-strike moment that will suddenly make you whole.

Fall in love with your own life. Or spend the rest of it chasing ghosts.

Fall in love with your mistakes. Fall in love with the version of you that kept crawling even when it would’ve been easier to lie down and rot. Fall in love with the scars, they are your fingerprints on time, proof that you survived nights that tried to kill you.