I arrived whole.

Not to be seen,

but to remain.

Time passed — yes.

Storms whispered — yes.

But none of that touched the core

where the light had already chosen myself .

I learned that beauty is not permission.

That strength does not shout.

That grace survives everything

that tries to name it.

I stopped explaining.

I stopped defending.

I stood still —

and the world adjusted.

This is not a memory.

This is not a return.

This is presence.

I am no longer becoming.

I’am

“I am not defined by time.

I am defined by truth.”

Poetic Close

Where silence meets certainty,

a rose blooms without asking why.

—

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