Give me one more day -
Not to fix it,
not to conquer the mess,
just to sit inside the wreckage
and learn its name.
One more day
to wake up tired
but still willing,
to stretch hope like an old sweater
with holes at the elbows
and warmth left in the threads.
The world keeps asking for plans,
for proof,
for progress
But today I’m bargaining smaller:
coffee cooling on the counter,
light slipping through the blinds,
the quiet miracle of breath
showing up again
without being asked.
I don’t need the whole staircase -
just a next step
that doesn’t collapse
when I put my weight on it.
One more day
to forgive myself
for not being who I thought
I’d be by now.
One more day
to carry the ache
without letting it turn mean.
There are people I haven’t laughed with yet,
songs I haven’t ruined with my voice,
versions of me
that only exist
if I stay.
So let tomorrow stay a question.
Let the big answers wait in the hallway
like coats I’ll try on later.
Tonight,
I choose the smallest courage available:
to stay.
To breathe.
To ask for one more day.