They never warned you about the days like this; days when hell makes a home in your chest. Some days, you swear, you feel wildflowers bloom from the saddest parts of you; you taste the sunlight letting them breathe. You're free. Then a day like this comes from nowhere, or everywhere, and the hell fire that you have become host to burns those flowers to ash. You're left shaking from the absence of the sun and the ghost of a person you've become. They never taught you how to breathe through the wreckage, but you will. They never showed you how to rise from the ashes, but you will. And one day you will be talking through what you had to figure out by yourself to somebody else and they will ask, "Does it get better?" and you will look at them and say, "Some day, you will have so much light inside of you that you run out of places to put it. It will fill you up to the brim. One more good thing and you'll be overflowing."