There was something so cathartic about a forest after a turbulent storm. Earth struck by the thundering rain, pummeling the fragile ecosystems and networks of vegetation below, only for it to grow twice as strong. Traces of the aftermath still visible, instilled into the terrain under its lush bounty. 

Like uncrumpling a piece of paper, still as whole as it was in its purest weathered form, rough around the edges, visible creases, and folds that remained. Yet it was these valleys and peaks that protected the very essence of what that paper held, the sheer weight of what was once a thriving and wise tree. 

Both in its truest form, or subsequent unfolded form, the beauty of its tenacity and resilience was a testament that love too could bounce back. 

For love can flourish and withstand any heartache. It does not easily crumble and break under the pressures of its environment; no, it relies solely on the roots beneath the surface, the ties and bonds it has to the forgiving earth it rests on.