not dramatically, not poetically

just quietly.

the kind of sad that hums under your skin

and makes even joy feel borrowed.

but lately, life has been kind to me.

or maybe i’ve just learned how to be kind to myself.

i have people who check in,

people who see me, who believe in me,

who hold space for both the light and what still lingers in the dark

and i’ve built something close to peace.

something that feels like home in my own skin.

and when i cry, it’s not because i’m drowning,

it’s because i’m still learning how to breathe in this new air.

it took work

the kind that no one sees.

it took years of unlearning survival,

forgiving myself for every version i outgrew,

and realizing that healing isn’t a destination,

it’s a quiet decision you keep making, over and over again.

but i made it here.

and i’m grateful

for the love around me,

for the purpose i’ve built,

for the softness i refused to let die.

still, there’s an ache.

it doesn’t scream anymore

it just sits beside me.

a longing for something deeper,

for love that feels like being known,

for fulfillment that doesn’t fade by morning light.

but maybe this is what living really is

learning to hold gratitude and longing in the same breath.

knowing that joy can coexist with the ghosts of who i used to be.

and even after everything,

i still reach.

i still hope.

i still want.

for now, i’m here.

and for the first time in a long time,