I look in the mirror and see someone softer—
Not weaker,
But worn in a way love tends to leave behind.

There was a time I loved blindly,
Loudly,
Without asking if the ground could hold me.
I called it strength,
But it was fear
Wearing confidence like perfume.

Now, I measure my footsteps.
I pause before giving too much.
I speak, not to be heard—
But to be honest.

You wouldn’t recognize the way I love now.
Not because it’s gone,
But because it’s grown quiet,
Rooted deeper,
No longer searching for permission to bloom.

I am still learning.
Still unlearning.
Still loving.

But I am not the same.
And maybe—
That’s what healing really is.