i didn’t move,
but am i the same?
the voices wonder, soft and strange.
are you the same?
ask the dear friends
who watched the light leave,
then return again.
i wore a smile,
thin as mist,
and whispered to myself
not quite.
i was a shipwreck,
splintered and sinking,
but i found my lighthouse.
late,
but just in time to pull me
from the waves.
through haze and howl,
its flicker reached me,
not clear,
but enough.
am i still surviving?
did it change me?
did i lose
the piece that made me me?
yes.
a little.
i had to.
some things must be let go,
or they drag you under.
you never really escape the storm,
the trauma clings like salt on skin,
but you learn to breathe with it.
the pain dulls,
the tides settle,
and the world’s turning
doesn’t cut so deep.
eventually,
this becomes the norm,
you, alone,
but living.