Hot tears roll down my cheeks
as you whisper a sweet prayer to my ear.
The birds chirp outside and the wind makes the bells chime.
But all I can hear is your soothing voice singing a melody only I know the words to.
As you kiss my cold hand
you make me a promise:
today will be a good day.
You know well this is a prophecy I don’t usually believe in.
You know my hardships and struggles—
you have seen the way it rips your daughter from your womb
the way it tears her limbs apart piece by piece.
Yet you tell me it anyways,
today will be a good day.
Your fingers thread my hair as if trying to knit a sense of belonging to me.
Although I can’t imagine it now,
someday I’ll miss that touch.
That touch that heals the wounds time couldn’t reach.
Through your hands,
your gaze,
your silence,
you helped me find myself.
Today will be a good day.
Although I can’t see it now,
although I walk through life with my fists raised,
although optimism never seemed like an option worth considering.
Today will be a good day.
But I won’t realize it until your absence is the only thing that remains.
Until the echo of your presence reminds me that I don’t need to bleed to be alive.
You press your hand against my cheek,
my cheek wet with emotions that I held in for too long.
You tell me one last time;
Today will be a good day.
Not because it’s sunny outside,
not because I’m still young enough to be held by my mother,
not because depression let me rest for today.
But it’s the simple fact that I’m alive.
That in itself was a victory worth celebrating.
Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 10:17 AM UTC
Hot tears roll down my cheeks
as you whisper a sweet prayer to my ear.
The birds chirp outside and the wind makes the bells chime.
But all I can hear is your soothing voice singing a melody only I know the words to.
As you kiss my cold hand
you make me a promise:
today will be a good day.
You know well this is a prophecy I don’t usually believe in.
You know my hardships and struggles—
you have seen the way it rips your daughter from your womb
the way it tears her limbs apart piece by piece.
Yet you tell me it anyways,
today will be a good day.
Your fingers thread my hair as if trying to knit a sense of belonging to me.
Although I can’t imagine it now,
someday I’ll miss that touch.
That touch that heals the wounds time couldn’t reach.
Through your hands,
your gaze,
your silence,
you helped me find myself.
Today will be a good day.
Although I can’t see it now,
although I walk through life with my fists raised,
although optimism never seemed like an option worth considering.
Today will be a good day.
But I won’t realize it until your absence is the only thing that remains.
Until the echo of your presence reminds me that I don’t need to bleed to be alive.
You press your hand against my cheek,
my cheek wet with emotions that I held in for too long.
You tell me one last time;
Today will be a good day.
Not because it’s sunny outside,
not because I’m still young enough to be held by my mother,
not because depression let me rest for today.
But it’s the simple fact that I’m alive.
That in itself was a victory worth celebrating.
