as we metamorphose

She Let Go She let go, not in a quiet sigh, but in the silence that followed when I cried out and no one came. She walked away, though her feet were still in the room. Her voice, once thunder turned into nothing at all. I learned to read shadows, to tiptoe around her storms, to mistake survival for love. I called the ache in my chest “normal.” I called myself “broken.” I called her silence “my fault.” But the ache had a name and it was not mine. The silence had a source and it was not God. And then, a whisper, not hers His. Though she may forget you, I will not forget. I saw you curled in the dark. I cupped your face in your sleep. Your name is etched on My hands. You are not too much for Me. So now I choose something different, not the false harmony or the shame. I choose her, the child no one saw and I bring her into the light of the One who never turned away.