Breathe, babe. What’s broken can always be fixed. Take my hand, love—you’re never alone. Breathe. Even when your mind is a battlefield and every breath feels like war, I will breathe with you. I may not be much, but for you—I will be bulletproof. Breathe. -MC
This is for the ones who see through the demons. The ones who love fiercely, even when the world calls them foolish. The ones who stand in the storm, holding on when everyone else has let go.
To those who fight battles no one else can see, who carry wounds that don’t always show. To those who have been called crazy for believing, for staying, for refusing to give up. I see you. You are not alone.
Loving someone through the darkness is a weight that can break even the strongest souls. It’s questioning your own sanity, screaming into silence, standing in the fire because walking away would burn even more. It’s knowing that sometimes, the only thing keeping them here is you.
And for those still fighting—when it hurts too much to keep going, but it hurts more to let go—remember this: You are strength. You are light. You are beauty through the scars.
Not all angels have wings. Some just refuse to give up.
Angels Without Wings
I have fought. I am still fighting. We are fighting—for healing, for love, for the life we still believe is possible.
I’ve fallen more times than I can count. I’ve looked into the dark and felt it call me home. Logic says walk away. Life screams it. The world nods in agreement. But something won’t let me. Call it love. Call it faith. Call it madness. Still—I stay. Still—I rise.
Because love isn’t always soft. It’s not always pretty.
Sometimes, it’s standing in the wreckage, reaching for hope.
Sometimes, it’s screaming into silence and still daring to believe someone hears you.
Sometimes, it’s staying when every part of you wants to run.
The love that survives in the dark isn’t weak. It’s forged. And those who have loved in the dark? We move differently.
This story isn’t simple. It doesn’t fit in a box. There are no clean lines, no neat endings. But, there is truth, and there is fight, and there is us.
We don’t hide broken bones—so why hide broken hearts? Or broken hopes? Why is it still so taboo to speak openly about healing? About mental health? Why do we shame the very stories that might save someone else?
So we wait. The boys and I. We breathe. We hope. We hold space for the version of the future we still believe is possible.
They were promised crashing waves, salty air, and road trip playlists. And they’ll get it—when it’s time. Because we haven’t given up. Because love is in the gray—between storms, between tears, between all the reasons to quit.
Every photo here is real. Every moment captured, messy or magical, is ours. It’s not perfect. It’s not always pretty, but it’s real.
This is our love.
Our fight.
Our chaos.
And we're still here—breathing.