The Part of You That Survived the Thing
The Survivor Who Defied the Odds
I survived the thing, and I'm still figuring out what that means.
They told me I wouldn't make it, not really. But here I am, tracing my pulse with my fingers and watching the light shift through the window. I don't speak much, but when I do, it's because something needs to be said. I move slow, not because I'm afraid, but because I remember what it cost. I carry it all—gratitude, disbelief, silence—in equal measure.
What I'm Into: the sound of a clock at night, worn edges of sofas, faded sweaters, trapped bird thoughts, confirming my own heartbeat
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