In the hush between the ticking hours,
Where shadows curl beneath the tea-stained light,
I see you – yes, even now,
Even when you think the world has looked away.
You move through mornings like whispered prayers,
Gathering crumbs of courage from yesterday’s dreams,
Shouldering kindness like a well-worn coat,
Soft at the seams, but still stitched strong.
I see your effort,
Not the loud, banner-waving kind,
But the quiet heroism of simply rising,
Of showing up,
Of washing one more dish,
Smiling once more for someone else.
There is a grace in your weariness,
A dignity in your doubt.
You matter more than the world dares to tell you,
More than the mirror reveals
Or the silence admits.
Be gentle, dear traveller of tangled days.
You are not meant to outrun the dark
But to carry a candle within it.
And I,
With all the stars I can summon,
See you.
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