Poem: Healing

There is a quiet place inside you
where the noise cannot follow—
not the sharp edges of yesterday,
not the echo of words that linger too long.

Sit there for a while.

Let the breath come back
like a tide that never forgot the shore.
Inhale—gather the scattered pieces.
Exhale—set down what was never yours to carry.

You are not the breaking.
You are the mending.

Even now, beneath the surface ache,
something steady is stitching light
through every hidden seam.
It does not rush you.
It does not ask you to be whole all at once.

A crack is not an ending—
it is where warmth finds a way in.

So soften.
Not because the world has been gentle,
but because you deserve gentleness anyway.

Healing is not a straight path—
it is a spiral,
a returning,
a remembering:

that you were never only the hurt.
You were always the hand
reaching back toward yourself,
again
and again
and again.

Thank-you for reading,

Brenda Marie