She's Okay:
I see her
the one who waited for footsteps
that never echoed back,
who sent her warmth into the dark
and called it patience.
I see the soft tremor beneath her calm,
the quiet chest where storms once slept.
I tell her: you’re doing okay.
The ache is not your enemy;
it’s the proof that you’ve lived deeply.
You are learning the art of release
how to breathe without reaching,
how to rest without waiting.
You do not need to mirror another’s light.
You have galaxies of your own.
There are mornings ahead
that will rise only for you
gentle, golden, certain.
You are worthy of the kind of love
that does not hide behind silence.
But even now, without it,
you are complete.
You walk slower now,
but every step is a prayer.
Every sigh, a seed.
You are okay,
not because the world is perfect,
but because you have learned
how to stay
when everything else leaves.
L