Each time the ground felt colder, each time the silence lasted longer.
But somewhere between the breaking and the breathing he found a spark that refused to die. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t clean. It was just enough to keep him moving.
He learned that courage isn’t the roar of victory but the whisper that says try again. He learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting but learning to live with the scars.
Now when the dark comes, he doesn’t run. He stands. He breathes. He waits for the light to return — and it always does.
Tags:
All Poetry