Before the pieces aligned,
I lived suspended in the blur.
Uncertain, restless,
haunted by questions with no answers.
Every silence felt like a weight,
every unknown
a storm waiting to break.
I braced myself without fully knowing why,
waiting for everything to fall away.

Then, all at once,
the fragments that had been scattered
finally came together.
With that clarity,
my body and mind let out
the breath I had no idea they had been holding.

And in that rare stillness,
I remember what it feels like
to stand firm,
to breathe deep,
to trust that knowing,
even when it hurts,
is a kind of freedom.

Even when the truths are painful and heavy,
past and present,
I would rather have them laid bare
than hidden in the shadows.
Because when I know,
when I hold the details in my hands,
I can make sense of them.
I can set each piece into place,
and stand on solid ground.
Instead of sinking
in a quicksand of uncertainty.

Clarity does not erase the pain.
But it gives me strength.
It gives me a foundation to stand on.
And that is enough to keep me here,
unshaken,
even when the darkness returns.