There are seasons of growth.
Then there are seasons marked by scissors, when we chop it all off to start again.
There are moments we boast our love, half-prideful and half-humbled to be everyone’s relationship goals.
Then there is heartbreak and the months we hide our tears underneath quilted covers, balking at how unlovable we are; how pointless this life is.
There are birthdays in our 20s we gleefully name after basketball stars.
Then there are birthdays we gaze to the heavens in stunned disbelief that we’ve survived this long; how depression didn’t take us out.
There are stories we recount to friends with ease, intercepted with effervescent laughter between each other.
Then there are stories that cause our throats to bubble with tears should anyone as much as hint at the painful memory.
These stories don’t make it to Snapchat.
But when the scars have healed and the sting less harrowing, these are the stories we will write about.