my author copy of still, itβs you finally arrived todayβ¦
and holding it felt heavier than I expected β in a good, quiet, heart-full kind of way.
the print came out darker than the digital cover, deep mocha, almost black. at first I thought I messed something up, but then I realizedβ¦
this book was written in one of the darkest, softest seasons of my life.
maybe it was always meant to look like this.
the spine isnβt perfectly aligned either β just a little to the left.
and it reminded me of something:
my healing wasnβt perfectly aligned either.
yet here I am⦠still standing, still soft.
I sent a copy of this book to someone who once meant the world to me.
I didnβt ask if he read it.
I didnβt want to make him explain silence.
maybe he opened it.
maybe he couldnβt.
maybe it hurt.
maybe it healed something Iβll never see.
I guess Iβll never know.
but today, holding my own copy, I finally understood:
this book was never really a message for him.
it was a reminder for me β that I loved deeply, honestly, softlyβ¦
and somehow survived the parts that tried to break me.
and that alone is enough. π€π
β kim π