I dissolved in the shadow of my own becoming,
where every heartbeat was an echo of absence,
and every breath a question unspoken.
The world pressed against my ribs,
but in the hollow between despair and forgetting,
a seed trembled—
ancient, patient, luminous.
From it rose fire unbidden,
not to burn what remained,
but to weave the fragments of me
into a new geometry of being.
I walked through the ruins of yesterday,
not seeking light, but becoming it,
each step an unmaking and a return,
each scar a hymn,
each tear a river that bore me home.
And when dawn finally leaned into my chest,
I did not rise as I was—
I rose as I had always been:
a soul forged in shadow,
tempered in loss,
and reborn
in the quiet, unrelenting brilliance of myself.
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