"No one knows the violence it took to be this gentle. No how many wars I fought in silence or nights drowned salt of my own grief eyes burning cheeks tacky with sorrow learning mourn myself quietly. There were felt sledgehammered open shattered ways no could see insides scattered across floor like broken glass. learned fix trembling hands stitch wounds shut words that didn’t always believe themselves. My superglue was made promises tape desperate hope. filled cracks fall shows and movie nights ink pressed into skin prayer laughter sounded armor. told steel stone too sharp again. But here is again—that funny feeling. That hollow hum creeps when world goes quiet. empty echo tastes loneliness wearing name. It’s same ache lived little girl used be who sat alone on playground reading because wanted her their team. thought I’d outgrown her. built walls tall enough strong she couldn’t crawl back through. emptiness a clever creature—it learns map your ribs slips through you you’d sealed. And tell me do make solitary thing curve every shoulder palm hold held? How stop needing connection bones remember what feels wanted? show up. celebrate. others way wish someone would me. pour love water everyone’s drought party ends music dies down realize even ask if thirsty too. Gentle yes—but not life has been kind. Gentle have known edge being forgotten survived it. Because softness can bruise. am stitched scarred tender—proof things still beautiful."