She stood at The rim

She walked to the rim where the cosmos thins,

where light grows sharp and silence begins,

where even bravest hearts turn

Away

but she stood her ground and chose to stay.

She knew the cost, she knew the night,

knew how close death could lean to the light,

yet still she stepped where others would flee,

a storm-made soul, wild and free.

She did not simply reach for me,

she came through fire relentlessly.

She did not just offer a hand,

she pulled me back from the darkened sand.

Back from the ashes, back from the ache,

back from the grip of what would break.

She named me worthy, fierce, and whole,

and guarded the ruins around my soul.

And she set at the edge of space guarding all

her arms and body wrapped around me as I laid motionless

She stood before my blood, my kin,

with fire in her eyes and steel within,

and said without bending, without delay:

“This one is mine. I’ll not give way.”

No timid love, no borrowed grace,

but a claim held firm in open space.

Spoken so loud that The echoes reverberated

She refused the world, refused the doubt,

and made sure everybody knew it out loud.

She has done more than words can hold,

more than stories are ever told.

More than kindness, more than care—

she became a shelter, fierce and rare.

So let this poem be a quiet light

for the woman who stood in the teeth of night,

who walked where fear could not survive,

and brought me back so I could live.