Dark Spring.

It was like the whole world had gone dark.

Not just the kind of darkness you get when the moon rises and the world falls asleep, but the kind of darkness which sneaks into every single nook and cranny and wound and open crevice of your bruised and battered soul.

Not just the kind of darkness you get when the moon rises and the world falls asleep, but the kind of darkness where your cracked glass heart splinters and shatters with every move that you make, tinkling slowly, painfully, and gathering like a mound of bloody diamonds in the black pit of your stomach.

It was like the whole world had gone dark, and not just the kind of darkness you get when the moon rises and the world falls asleep, but the kind of darkness that hurts to the touch; the kind of darkness that blinds you so much so, that you don’t even remember what it feels like to see; the kind of darkness that begins as your enemy, yet convinces you it is your friend – once it was your demise, yet suddenly you find it is the only thing familiar.

But His signs are everywhere, for those that choose to see.

And the first blossoms of spring – so innocent, so pure and so, so beautiful – are His way of telling us there is hope through the cold and that there is hope, even through the darkest winter.