Depression doesn’t disappear,
it doesn’t pack up and leave.
It waits,
sometimes heavy,
sometimes light,
like a shadow folding in on itself.

Some days, it’s loud,
an echo in every breath,
a weight that drags you under.
Other days, it’s a whisper,
a quiet ache beneath the noise.

It doesn’t vanish,
it just learns to share space,
grows smaller,
so you can breathe,
so you can stand,
so you can hope.

Healing isn’t a clean break.
it’s living
with the quiet parts,
letting them fade
until they no longer own you.

But it never really disappears,
it just gets easier living with it.