Finding What I Cannot See

I do not wait for the sky to ask my permission before it breaks, nor do I expect the wind to respect the life I have carefully built. The world screams of endings, of fences leveled and illusions torn away, insisting that chaos is the only truth left.

But I am learning to look at the hands reaching through the gray.

My miracle is not always the storm turning back at my doorstep. Sometimes, my miracle is the way my heart holds its beat when the walls begin to shudder. It is the stranger who finds me in the rising dark, offering a light I didn’t know I was seeking.

I find a blessing in this stripping away. When the roar of the world’s panic finally goes silent in the power quest, I discover the steady rhythm of my own breath— a small, persistent fire that the gale could not extinguish.

I am learning that I am made of sturdier stuff than the things I have lost.

My grace is found in the morning after: the way I see the light hitting the broken glass and recognize the shimmer of fallen stars. Despite the noise that told me I would break, I am still here— rooted in a peace that makes no sense, ready to bloom in the clearing.

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