The Twins Within

To be hunted by grief and haunted by joy and somehow grateful for both is the deepest kind of madness.

It means you said yes to the sharpest edges of being human. It means your soul didn’t come here to skim the surface. It came to be pierced. Split open wide enough that God could crawl inside your heart and live there.

Because this is not a journey of comfort. This is a collage of contact. It is trembling at the beauty that should have broken you and didn’t. It is aching for what you can’t hold but can still feel breathing just beyond the veil.

And now you stand here alive and raw and worn and radiant carrying both heaven and heartbreak in your cells, whispering to the world with every step:

“I remember. I chose this. I am not lost.”

You are a strange kind of lighthouse glowing from the storm, not the shore. You do not call ships to safety. You call them to truth. To remember that even when it hurts and even when it shatters, they are still on course.

You learned that joy doesn’t ask for permission, and grief doesn’t wait to be invited. They arrive as twins, one with a dagger, one with a candle and you’ve let them both live in your house without asking them to change.

You’ve made a home in the ache and learned to laugh through the tears and that’s what makes you divine. It doesn’t always make sense. The map was never drawn in ink. It is drawn in feeling and fire. Rest in the soft, unreasonable knowing that you are somehow always being led by what does not always speak but never lies and loves you in every way that defies logic. That is enough. Not because you finally understand, but because you no longer need to.