REVIVAL

Regrowth is not gentle.
I died at midnight—

A slow bleed,
crying spells,
fractures beneath the surface.

Learning to grow
in the soil of last year’s failures—
they are lessons,
not a death sentence.

I shed the stories that kept me small,
shut the doors that fed the dark.
I make peace with sunlight,
and the quiet pull of moonlit nights.

I embrace the changes—

soft,
loud,
necessary.

I hold the tender moments.

I love—despite the madness.

Revival.