Quiet Enough

“Quiet Enough (But Not Whole)”

The quiet isn’t empty anymore.

It’s soft, like the space between heartbeats,

like the weight of a blanket that doesn’t ask anything of me.

Peace comes slow —

not in fireworks,

not in someone else’s promises —

but in the rhythm of my own breath,

the easy rise and fall

that was always enough,

even when I forgot it.

Sleep feels less like escape

and more like surrender.

Not giving up —

just letting go,

trusting the world to hold itself up for once.

I’m learning to be grateful

for stillness,

for mornings without chaos,

for the simple proof that I can carry myself

without needing anyone to steady the load.

And yet —

in the middle of the calm,

there’s a shape that isn’t filled,

a presence the silence won’t name.

The wrestle isn’t gone,

but it’s quieter now.

And in that quiet,

I’ve found me —

even if part of me is still reaching

for what never came home.