Layarxxipwsharingthesameroomwiththehate Hot!

Read this if you want to remember that hate, when forced into close quarters, is just love’s ugly, claustrophobic cousin. Bring a flashlight. And maybe a therapist.

Imagine you are six months past the day you finally leave that room. You have a space of your own. You breathe without listening for their key in the lock. That version of you would say this: You are not the hate. You are not the room. You are the one who endured and kept a small, secret piece of yourself intact. Use the memory not as a wound, but as a reminder of how strong quiet endurance can be. layarxxipwsharingthesameroomwiththehate

Laying in a Room, Sharing the Same Space with the Hate Read this if you want to remember that