Sublime

The real war is always in the mind. It’s a war that doesn’t need medals on the chest. All the medals are worn on your face. Your gait reveals the landscape of the hell you’re returning from. When you have all the stories you no longer have to tell the stories. They’re etched on you. In a language even the illiterates can read.

Yo. What if you went all in. What if. What could your life look like. If you just suffered. If you sat in pain and hardship and the unknown but still moved forward with reckless abandon. If you killed off the weak version of yourself and completely bossed up