A Tapestry of Resilience
In the quiet of a morning
where sunlight spills over the edges of dreams,
I catch a glimpse of the lost-
a girl with tangled hair,
a heart wrapped in a paper-thin shell,
her laughter still echoing in the stillness,
suspended like dust in a sunbeam.
She wanders through hallways of mirrors,
each reflection a question,
each scar a story,
the fabric of her skin stitched with shadows
that whisper of battles fought in silence.
What does it mean to be whole
when the pieces slip through fingers
like sand through an hourglass?
Outside, the world unfurls,
a carnival of colors,
the pink of cotton candy,
the blush of cherry blossoms swaying,
yet she feels like a ghost
wandering a landscape painted in grayscale,
wondering if she is the canvas or the brush,
the artist or the art.
In moments of stillness,
the heart beats louder than reason,
and she gathers the fragments,
the shards of herself scattered
like leaves in autumn winds,
wondering if she can stitch them back
into a tapestry bright enough
to warm the coldest nights.
But time, that relentless tide,
pulls and pushes,
inviting the tides of despair and delight,
and she learns to cradle her imperfections,
each flaw a petal in a bouquet
that blooms in defiance of the storm.
Perhaps it is enough,
to stand in the center of the chaos,
to breathe in the cacophony of life,
to know that even the broken
can sing a song of resilience,
a melody woven from the threads of wounds,
the chorus of "I am enough"
echoing through the valleys of doubt.
So she lifts her chin,
gazes at the horizon stretching,
the sun a promise,
the clouds a canvas,
and in that moment,
understanding unfurls like wings,
the weight of wonder
lifting her toward the vastness-
that to be imperfect is to be beautifully alive.
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