02/12/2025
At the end of this wandering… when my soul slips out of this borrowed skin and the world finally goes quiet… none of the labels or battles or shiny victories will matter.
Not one.
What will matter is who I became while clawing my way through the storms…
how I tended the hearts that crossed my path…
how I loved the ones Spirit trusted me with, even when my own heart was cracked and leaking light.
When the noise dies…
when the story closes…
the Universe only whispers one question:
Did you offer love?
Did you open your chest when fear told you to barricade it?
Did you soften when the world tried to harden you?
Did you lift another soul when their sky was falling?
Did you choose healing instead of harm…
growth instead of retreat…
truth instead of silence?
Because love—real, feral, messy, cosmic love—is the only magic we carry into the next realm.
It’s the only spell that survives time.
It’s the only fingerprint we leave on the world that the winds can’t erase.
So if Spirit ever asks what I did with my life,
I want my answer to burn like a witch’s vow:
I offered love.
Not perfect love.
Not polished love.
But wild, trembling, holy love.
I offered presence when I was tired…
light when I was dim…
the becoming of me even while I was still breaking and rebuilding.
May that be my legacy—
may that be our legacy—
a trail of love glowing behind us
like purple fire in the night. 💜🔥✨
