I wore the mountain
like a second spine—
so long,
I thought it was mine.
Then love arrived
like rain in a dry room-
soft,
uninvited,
real.
It didn’t heal.
It peeled
revealing I'd been walking
with wounds
still whispering
beneath my skin.
And when it left,
I cracked.
Not broken—
but opened.
Now the ache speaks
and I listen.
And somehow,
that is enough.
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 9:07 AM UTC
I wore the mountain
like a second spine—
so long,
I thought it was mine.
Then love arrived
like rain in a dry room-
soft,
uninvited,
real.
It didn’t heal.
It peeled
revealing I'd been walking
with wounds
still whispering
beneath my skin.
And when it left,
I cracked.
Not broken—
but opened.
Now the ache speaks
and I listen.
And somehow,
that is enough.
