A Lullaby for the Child Still Dreaming in You

Hush now…

come sit in the quiet

where the world finally loosens its grip,

where the night folds itself around you

like a soft blanket warmed

by a gentle, steady heart.

You don’t have to be brave just now.

You don’t have to pretend

you’ve outgrown the small voice inside

that still trembles,

still hopes,

still curls its fingers

around memories that ache.

You can rest here.

You can exhale.

There is a child in you

not broken,

not wrong

just tired from carrying

more than any child ever should.

Let them come forward.

Let them climb into the quiet

of your chest

and feel, maybe for the first time,

that they are safe.

Imagine cupping their small, tender hands

between your own,

warm and gentle,

as though you finally understand

how sacred they’ve always been.

Tell them softly:

“I’m here now.

You don’t have to run anymore.

You don’t have to hide.

I will hold what you could not.”

And feel how those words settle

like a blanket

like a promise

like the slow, sweet warmth

of a light finally returning

to a long-abandoned room.

Let the night sing to you,

low and silver,

like moonlight humming

through half-closed curtains.

Let it stroke your hair

in the quiet way

only nighttime knows

no urgency,

no judgment,

just the eternal patience

of the dark wanting you to heal.

For even now,

the child in you

still reaches for gentleness,

still dreams of a pair of arms

that hold without hurting,

that protect without taking,

that stay.

And you

grown and weary

yet still full of unseen softness

can be those arms.

You can wrap yourself

in your own compassion

the way no one ever did soon enough,

whispering into the oldest wounds:

“You deserved tenderness.

You deserve it still.”

Let that truth settle

deeper than the pain ever did.

Breathe.

Rest.

Set down the weight.

The world can wait.

Tonight is for the child in you

the one who survived,

the one who needs to be rocked

in the cradle of your own forgiveness,

your own warmth,

your own unshakable care.

Sleep now

not into forgetting,

but into healing.

For the moon keeps watch,

and your heart

for the first time in a long time

is safe enough

to close its eyes.