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.
accept it