Therapy Bits

There was a time
when the walls knew my name
better than I did —
a time when light
had to sneak in through cracks,
careful not to make too much noise.

Evil was not a ghost in my house.
It wore familiar faces,
used gentle words as knives,
and called its wounds “love.”
It taught me silence,
taught me how to disappear
even while breathing.

But the thing about ashes —
they remember fire,
they remember what it means to burn
and still become something new.

I rose, not all at once,
but in the slow unfurling of a scar
that decided it was a flower.
I learned the shape of my own name
without flinching.
I learned that survival
is not just what’s left after the storm —
it’s the decision to walk into sunlight
and stay there.

Now, when I look back,
I don’t see the ruin —
I see the proof.
Every breath is rebellion,
every heartbeat a hymn.
Evil tried to end me,
but I am still here,
louder than the silence it left behind.

And these ashes?
They don’t mourn the fire —
they remember
how to glow.

Thursday Inspiration #304 Smiling Faces Sometimes – A Unique Title For Me