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Poem
There is a silence before the fall—
not the absence of sound, but the heaviness of it,
thick as fog, as thick as the space between heartbeats,
when every thought crowds the same narrow room.

The choice has settled like a stone in the chest,
a weight pressing down harder than the world itself—
and yet, beneath that pressure, there is something else—
a flicker, faint and fragile,
like the last ember in a dying fire.

It may feel like the point of no return,
the line that once crossed cannot be uncrossed,
the moment that closes every door behind you—
and sometimes, it is exactly that.

But even when the path feels final and absolute,
the human spirit is not so easily confined.
It is messy, unpredictable, stubborn—
it can bend and stretch,
sometimes shatter,
and sometimes, quietly, begin again.

In this moment where hope seems hollow,
remember that life is not only measured
by the sum of its victories or defeats,
but by the quiet breaths taken against the storm.

There is no shame in standing here,
in the shadow of unbearable pain—
because pain is proof of living,
proof of the heart’s relentless beating.

You may feel broken beyond repair,
but even broken things can catch the light—
fractured glass becomes a prism,
shattering the darkness into colours.

If you have arrived at this point,
know you are not alone in the stillness.
Others have stood where you stand,
felt the same weight,
and found a way to carry it differently.

This is not a call to pretend the pain is gone,
or to erase what feels unbearable.
It is an invitation to recognise
that the story isn’t over—
that the next page might be the one you cannot yet imagine.

You are here, alive—
and in that fact alone
is a powerful reason to hold on.

Because even the smallest flicker,
the softest whisper of breath,
can be the start of something
you never thought possible.
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