‍ ‍ ‍ ‍𝕲𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒Ⓞ𝐍

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ INTERACTION. ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏

⠀ ┕╾┈ ⿻⠀ 𝐅I𝐆H𝐓S ⠀ I𝐍 ⠀ 𝐓H𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ 𝐒H𝐀D𝐎W𝐒⠀ , ⠀ W𝐈T𝐇 ⠀ 𝐓H𝐄 ⠀ 𝐂O𝐔R𝐀G𝐄 ⠀ 𝐎F ⠀ O𝐍E ⠀ W𝐇O ⠀ H𝐀S ⠀ L𝐎S𝐓 ⠀ 𝐄V𝐄R𝐘T𝐇I𝐍G⠀ , ⠀ 𝐁U𝐓 ⠀ 𝐍E𝐕E𝐑 ⠀ 𝐒U𝐑R𝐄N𝐃E𝐑E𝐃

tomorrow will come. it always does. whether i am ready for it or not, i’ll meet it on my feet. i’ve fallen enough times to know how to get back up.

i don’t think the darkness ever really leaves. i think we simply become better at carrying a light into it.

you can forgive the world for hurting you without pretending it didn’t. some wounds deserve to be remembered.

every time i land on a rooftop, there is a fraction of a second where i remember being a boy in the air. then the world comes back.

i smile because it is easier than explaining everything that hurts. sometimes a smile is not happiness. sometimes it is just another mask.

the city does not need perfect heroes. it needs people willing to stand between the darkness and someone who cannot fight it alone.

sometimes i wonder who i would have been if tragedy had never found me. then i remember that wondering will never bring him back.

there is always another rooftop. another siren. another night waiting to be survived. eventually you stop asking when it ends.

donna has known me long enough to remember who i was before the mask. when i start losing myself in the job, she is usually the first person to remind me that there is still a man underneath it.h

i used to think scars were proof that something had defeated you. now i think they are proof that it didn’t finish the job.

being strong is overrated. sometimes strength is admitting that you are tired and taking one more step anyway.

there are things i remember only when everything becomes quiet. so i keep the city loud. it is easier that way.

the night never asks what you lost. it simply waits for you to decide whether you are going back into the dark.

i have spent years turning fear into movement. maybe that is why standing still has always felt more dangerous than jumping.

there is a strange comfort in bruises. they remind you that pain has an expiration date. even if the scars disagree.