In the stillness,
when the world finally softens,
her inner soul begins to glow.
It gathers the scattered pieces—
the ones that never made sense
while love was still loud,
while the relationship still occupied the room.
Now, in the quiet,
those fragments find each other.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.
Carefully stitched with grace and patience.
They say healing has seasons.
And she knows this—
she feels the truth of it in her bones.
She is still in summer.
Still warm.
Still aching.
Still learning how to rise each morning
and become her own sun.
There are days when longing returns,
unannounced,
settling gently in her chest.
On those days,
she does not run.
She wraps her arms around herself.
She stays.
Because even now—
even here—
She is learning that holding herself
is also a form of love.
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