Question

I wake up tired, but I wake up. That counts for something. The hurt is still here. It sits beside me, not loud, just heavy. I used to push it away. I thought that was strength. Now I let it stay. It asks for less this way. Some days I move slow. Some days I stop. The world does not end when I rest. I learn my shape again, after all that broke. I am not the same, but I am here. I find small light..warm tea, a deep breath, one kind word. Healing is not a straight line. It bends. It waits. It comes back. And one day, without noise, I will look at myself and see someone still standing.

Answer 1

tuff good job