The year I chose to live,  
because on that one day, I didn’t die.  
My breath lingered, though I wished it would halt,  
and my heart kept beating,  
even as it shattered into shards too sharp to hold.  

I learned the weight of living  
when you no longer wish to carry it.  
When each step feels heavier than the last,  
and your place in this world  
is a question you’re too tired to answer.  
But I also discovered  
the fragile beauty of life –  
how sacred each breath becomes  
when it burns against the walls of your chest.  

Since the day I didn’t leave,  
I have loved life fiercely,  
with a hunger I never knew I had.  

I walked through a love  
that strangled me like a noose,  
a love that erased and froze me,  
that burned without offering warmth,  
that stole my air and left me gasping.  
A love so beautiful,  
it broke me.  
A love so painful,  
it almost ended me.  

I tried to breathe.  
I tried to live.  
But loneliness was a sea of shadows,  
wrapping itself around my ankles,  
pulling me into a quiet that screamed.  

I couldn’t bear it.  
My mind whispered, "You won’t last."  
Ten minutes alone stretched into an eternity,  
a silence that devoured me whole.  

And yet, I rose –  
gathering the fragments of myself,  
though their edges tore my hands.  
In the ashes, I searched for beauty,  
and found glimmers of light.  

No matter who hurt me.  
No matter whose hands left bruises on my soul.  
I fought.  
I survived.  

In shadows and ruins,  
I searched for the pieces of myself.  
I found fragments hidden like relics –  
pieces I had forgotten,  
or never knew existed.  

I chased the light,  
a fragile butterfly fleeing the claws of shadows.  
In the quiet of empty places,  
I stood face-to-face with myself.  
And that was the hardest thing of all.  

I sought solace in abandoned places –  
crumbling walls and shattered windows,  
a mirror to the desolation inside me.  
And yet,  
I felt at home there.  

I tried everything:  
a job, a dream,  
a van to carry me far from here.  
Freedom felt like a whisper  
I could never catch.  

I poured my last strength  
into painting Easter eggs,  
letting a child’s laughter echo through the silence.  
For her,  
I stood strong,  
even as I shattered inside.  

I wanted to love,  
but in my giving,  
I lost myself.  

I left flowers by the roadside,  
small offerings to a world  
I was trying to believe in.  
Even as my heart bled,  
even as hope flickered faintly.  

I stretched for the sun,  
but found only faint stars –  
cold and distant,  
yet they whispered:  
“In the depths of darkness,  
light survives.”  

Step by trembling step,  
I walked the ruins of my past,  
where shadows of my younger self  
lay buried beneath the rubble of time.  
Each shard I lifted  
felt like a whisper:  
"Keep going. I am still here."  

And then it came –  
a shot through the fragile shell of my heart,  
shattering the silence within me,  
echoing through the hollow caverns of my soul.  

I needed help –  
not just to breathe,  
but to find the fragments of myself  
that the darkness had stolen.  

And so my healing began,  
trembling hands gripping a glass of water,  
while words etched in black and white  
tried to stitch me back together.  

There was structure,  
there was a plan:  
words, faces,  
people who carried the same weight I did.  
Slowly, I learned:  
I am enough.  
Slowly, I began to believe  
that broken things can be made whole.  

For the first time, sweetness touched my tongue –  
ice melting into rivers of warmth,  
flowing through the frozen landscapes of my soul.  
For the first time, colors returned to my mind.  
I gathered my broken pieces,  
and in the mirror,  
my eyes held life again.  

My wounds faded to scars.  
I wanted to live.  
I began carving hope into the walls of my mind –  
each word a quiet rebellion,  
each line a flicker of light  
breaking through the shadows.  
Slowly, belief returned,  
like a hesitant sunrise after the longest night.  

And then I smiled –  
a real smile,  
one that reached my eyes.  

There were still shadows,  
still losses that burned.  
But I was no longer powerless.  

I found someone,  
someone who held my heart  
when it was ready to break.  
With her, I laughed in defiance of sorrow.  
With her, I aimed at my demons,  
watched them crumble into dust.  

I began to see love  
in places I had never looked.  
Even in a withered leaf,  
its tattered edges shaped like a heart.  

Now, when I walk,  
my thoughts drift lighter,  
carried by the light.  

I write of my pain.  
I sing of my sorrow.  
So others may know:  
You are not alone.  

This year,  
I searched for myself.  
And I found pieces I never thought I would.  

I stayed,  
because my heart still beats.  
And as long as it beats,  
I will rise.  
I will stay.  
For I am not only strong –  
I am the unbroken,  
the unyielding.  
I am the light that refuses to dim.