A pulse rides steady in the pencil’s lead.
Never sigh, “I’m too tired to go on”—
press deeper.
Let the hunger in your hands
stir the marrow of your will.
Exalt the fight: one more day,
one more dawn—
who knows when the sky might fray?
Press deeper.
You live because you burn, not just endure.
Even your wounds are seeds—
so love the sweet sting, the sweat,
hoard your memories like gold.
Remember:
you’ve always been this brave.