braver, softer
There are things I do not say.
Not because I am hiding—
but because some truths feel more sacred when they’re held,
not spoken.
Like the way it feels when I write letters I never send.
Or how the constellations on my ceiling are named after people who never stayed.
Or the way l close my eyes when my name is spoken gently,
just so I remember what safety sounds like.
I keep a box in my mind labeled “Almost.”
Almost loved.
Almost said.
Almost stayed.
It rattles sometimes when I am alone,
like bones trying to become wings.
I do not throw it away.
I just rearrange it.
Softly.
Like memory deserves a place to rest.
There are things I leave in the quiet.
Like forgiveness.
Like tenderness.
Like the version of myself that was told she had to be everything just to be enough.
I let that version sleep now.
