There are memories buried inside me, not forgotten, just sleeping under thick layers of silence.
I pressed them down with trembling hands, believing that if I stacked enough laughter and busy days on top, they would never find their way back.
But pain is patient. It waits in the marrow of my bones.
Pain is in the spaces between my breaths, until a quiet moment comes and it rises, Softly at first, like a shadow on the wall, then sharper, heavier, screaming when I finally slow down enough to hear it.
I realize now that I never destroyed it. I only tucked it away like a secret I was too young to hold.
Maybe it is time to stop running
Maybe it is time to sit beside the broken parts of me and let them speak in their cracked, aching voices.
Maybe I am allowed to fall apart, and maybe falling is not the end of me.