Some mornings feel impossible.
You wake up but don’t really rise.
You move, but everything inside you stays still.
I keep wondering why healing takes so long.
Why the weight doesn’t just lift.
Why the world keeps moving when I can barely take a step.
And then it hits me.
Maybe healing isn’t about speed.
Maybe it’s about breathing through the slowness.
Letting the ache soften, little by little, instead of demanding it to leave.
Nothing is ever fully gone.
Not the pain.
Not the hope either.
It just shifts.
It just waits for us to notice it in a new form.
I don’t have the answers.
But I do have this moment.
This breath.
And maybe that’s where rebuilding begins.
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