Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

When you cease to ache, even your pain is like a Lilly or a Rose. Something inside will stir you up to rise and stand tall for a while like a tree or maybe a sliver man looking up to the sky. You will say how everything seems like a remedy or a lesson, of how things tried but failed and pain became like rain, or air, touching everything  as you prevail through the storms. At least you are lucky. Storms still know your name.