Therapy Bits

In the quiet shadows of a darkened room,

I sift through the remnants of what was,

fingertips tracing invisible scars,

memories tangled like brittle threads,

fraying at the edges, yet holding,

holding tight.

Survival is not a straight path,

but a winding road littered with echoes—

the laughter that once danced under summer skies,

now muted whispers in the autumn wind,

where every leaf that falls recalls

the weight of all I’ve buried.

I rise with the dawn,

a phoenix cloaked in possibility,

the sun’s rays peeling back layers of night,

and in that light, I find my breath,

each inhale a promise,

each exhale a release.

Voices of yesterday play in reverse,

what once felt like chains now glimmers

in the soft haze of understanding,

an intricate tapestry woven with threads of pain,

yet in its complexity,

a story of resilience unfolds.

There’s a power in survival,

not in the absence of struggle,

but in the grace of moving forward—

in the laughter I share,

the moments I seize,

the simple joy of waking to choose life

again and again.

So, let the world see me rise—

not despite the storms,

but within them.

I am the river carving through rock,

the flame that ignites in the depths of winter,

and in every heartbeat,

I claim my survival,

a testament to love,

to loss,

to the beauty of all that remains.

Survival – Word of the Day Challenge