Healing isn’t soft light and warm tea,
it's nights where you forget how to breathe,
mornings where your chest still hurts,
and days where pretending feels easier than feeling.
It’s deleting the message you almost sent,
and learning that closure doesn’t always come
from the person who broke you.
It’s crying at random songs,
then laughing five minutes later,
and wondering if that's progress or madness.
Healing is saying, “I'm fine,”
when what you mean is, “I'm trying.”
It’s holding yourself together
while every part of you wants to fall apart.
It’s quiet painfully quiet
no applause, no witnesses, just you,
teaching your heart to beat without their name.
One day you'll wake up and realize
you didn’t think of them first.
You’ll sip your coffee,
and the taste will belong only to you.
That’s healing not pretty, not cinematic,
but real, raw, and entirely yours.
it's nights where you forget how to breathe,
mornings where your chest still hurts,
and days where pretending feels easier than feeling.
It’s deleting the message you almost sent,
and learning that closure doesn’t always come
from the person who broke you.
It’s crying at random songs,
then laughing five minutes later,
and wondering if that's progress or madness.
Healing is saying, “I'm fine,”
when what you mean is, “I'm trying.”
It’s holding yourself together
while every part of you wants to fall apart.
It’s quiet painfully quiet
no applause, no witnesses, just you,
teaching your heart to beat without their name.
One day you'll wake up and realize
you didn’t think of them first.
You’ll sip your coffee,
and the taste will belong only to you.
That’s healing not pretty, not cinematic,
but real, raw, and entirely yours.