They say the fire is over
Because the flames are gone
Because the walls still stand
Because the roof didn’t fall
They say I’m strong
Because i didn’t fall
But we had only just started living there
Boxes still half open
Corners still unfamiliar
My name barely resting
In the air of that room
Something inside me is always burning
Without heat
Without light
Just that dull, constant consumption
They call it resilience
I call it learning
How to live
In a body that smells like ash
I don’t cry about it
The tears feel unnecessary
Like pouring water
On something that already turned to dust
Instead
I sweep up pieces of myself
With steady hands
Stack them neatly
Label the box
“Salvaged”
And when people tell me
“I’m proud of how strong you are,”
I nod
Because strong things don’t collapse
They just hollow slowly
From the inside
And one day
When someone finally knocks
They’ll hear the echo
Before they ever hear me