When the heart comes undone, it uncoils like a vine in the moonlight—fragile, desperate for something to hold to, but lost in the emptiness between breaths. Each thread that loosens from the core is a surrender, a letting go of what once seemed certain. In the hollow of this unraveling, the soul trembles, scarred by the quiet violence of its own fragility. Yet, in that space where all seems lost, there stirs a tremor of grace, a tender whisper that does not come from the outside but rises from within the ruin. It is the faintest of lights, flickering like the first star after a storm, and it speaks in the language of brokenness: “You are not forgotten.” There, in the dark, where the heart falls to pieces, something divine begins to stitch itself together again—no longer whole, but beautiful in its disarray, reborn through the wounds. “Unravleing” Print drop 1.23.25 Sign up for the newsletter for early access, link in bio