01/07/2026
I reach out,
but my words fall quietly,
as if they were never meant to land.
I speak,
yet nothing seems to hear me.
So we build shields—
thin walls made of memory and fear,
calling them protection.
We turn inward,
mistaking survival for living.
We tell ourselves
everyone is the same,
that closeness is dangerous,
that distance is safer.
And we cling to this fragile illusion,
naming it safety.
But what if they are not the same?
What if they arrive carrying something new—
not harm,
but a different way of being?
What if they are here
to remind us how to live,
not with clenched fists,
but with open hands?
What if the ones we push away
are the very ones
our souls have been waiting for?
And what if growth
is not found in armor,
but in the trembling choice
to be seen,
to soften,
to step beyond comfort—
and trust
that becoming requires risk?
