We do not choose
how we arrive—
whether with wings folded
or shadows trailing behind.
We do not choose
how hearts are stitched
or how bones bear the weight
of an unspoken name.
But still,
they come into the world—
these children wrapped in wonder,
their eyes like moons
that have already known the dark.
And with them come
those who stand behind,
soft-spoken warriors,
who wake before dawn
to carry what the world
can’t see,
or won’t.
It is not easy
to live in a world
that labels you
before you speak.
That watches your body
and not your soul.
That counts what you cannot
before it sees
what you are.
You want to run,
go to offices,
laugh without caution,
board buses, chase sunsets,
make mistakes
without the echo of pity.
But something pulls.
A tether you never tied.
And this pain—
it isn’t yours alone.
It spills,
quietly,
into the eyes of those
who love you most.
They carry you,
even when you’re walking.
Yes—
life is hard.
Hard in ways
language limps to describe.
But what is not in our hands
was never meant to be.
And brooding over
what won’t bend to will
only breaks the heart twice—
yours,
and theirs.
So let us endure,
not with bitterness,
but with the strange courage
of stars that still shine
through stormed-out skies.
Let us remember:
life is brief.
And tomorrow is shy,
always hiding behind
the next breath.
If you fear the worst,
pause.
Who promised you’d
live long enough
to meet it?
So soften, dear one.
Rest your heart.
You’ve made it this far.
And that is no small thing.
In the moments when
your knees shake
and the future darkens,
say softly:
“I am strong.
I have met sorrow.
And still,
I rise.”
Because the strength
that brought you here
will carry you still—
like a tide that never stops,
even when no one is watching.