The book sits heavy in my hands,
each page whispers, \"Keep coming back.\"
I trace the steps as if they\'re maps,
directions to a place I\'ve never seen.
My tongue stumbles over strange promises,
each one catching on the jagged edges
of a life I have spent remaking,
breaking, then trying to unbreak again.
There\'s a courage I don’t recognize—
it waits at the edge of each step.
It hands me words like patience, surrender,
and dares me to say them out loud.
If I lean into what this offers,
I imagine a someday without hiding,
where my hands are steady and empty,
where I can carry myself, finally.