Scarred hills, butchered trees.Hotels rise; beach pays the price.Come, see my country.Land of wood and water, butthey’re planting concrete jungles.
Maybe our fears are lost children who weren’t saved. They hold on to us a little too tightly—thinking they’re protecting us—unaware that they’re pulling us under to places where we cannot breathe. Goodbye, little one.I can save myself onlyby letting you go.
Monday Inspiration: Bright Stars
The arts are bright starslighting the way for sad heartsto find hope again.