the lights went out
so quietly
i almost thought
nothing had changed.
but suddenly
there was no mirror
to argue with,
no shadows sharp enough
to blame.
just dark.
and me.
at first
i reached for other people’s voices
like flashlights —
tell me who i am,
tell me what i look like,
tell me if i am enough.
but the dark
doesn’t answer to anyone.
it makes you sit still.
it makes you listen
to your own breathing
like it’s the only proof
you exist.
i used to think
finding myself
would feel like fireworks —
bright, obvious, loud.
instead
it feels like learning
the room by memory.
one careful step.
hands stretched forward.
bumping into old versions of me
i forgot to let go of.
the girl who needed approval.
the girl who shrank to fit.
the girl who said “it’s fine”
when it wasn’t.
i trace the walls
of my own thoughts.
i memorize the corners
of my fears.
in the dark
there is no performance.
no audience.
just the quiet question —
if no one is watching,
who are you?
and slowly,
without light
without applause
without certainty,
i begin to answer.
not in declarations.
not in bold lines.
but in small things —
the way my heart steadies
when i tell the truth.
the way my spine straightens
when i say no.
maybe finding yourself
isn’t about turning the lights on.
maybe
it’s about realizing
you were never lost —
you just needed the dark
to see
without distraction
the outline
of who you’ve been
all along.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 9:26 PM UTC
the lights went out
so quietly
i almost thought
nothing had changed.
but suddenly
there was no mirror
to argue with,
no shadows sharp enough
to blame.
just dark.
and me.
at first
i reached for other people’s voices
like flashlights —
tell me who i am,
tell me what i look like,
tell me if i am enough.
but the dark
doesn’t answer to anyone.
it makes you sit still.
it makes you listen
to your own breathing
like it’s the only proof
you exist.
i used to think
finding myself
would feel like fireworks —
bright, obvious, loud.
instead
it feels like learning
the room by memory.
one careful step.
hands stretched forward.
bumping into old versions of me
i forgot to let go of.
the girl who needed approval.
the girl who shrank to fit.
the girl who said “it’s fine”
when it wasn’t.
i trace the walls
of my own thoughts.
i memorize the corners
of my fears.
in the dark
there is no performance.
no audience.
just the quiet question —
if no one is watching,
who are you?
and slowly,
without light
without applause
without certainty,
i begin to answer.
not in declarations.
not in bold lines.
but in small things —
the way my heart steadies
when i tell the truth.
the way my spine straightens
when i say no.
maybe finding yourself
isn’t about turning the lights on.
maybe
it’s about realizing
you were never lost —
you just needed the dark
to see
without distraction
the outline
of who you’ve been
all along.
