Between Bruises & Blooms

There are tiny hands that reach for me like I am the safest place in the world.

And sometimes they don’t know how heavy my heart has been.

They don’t know the battles I fought quietly. The nights I cried without making a sound. The pieces of myself I had to find again.

They only know my arms.

My voice.

My love.

Maybe that’s the magic of children.

They don’t need us to be untouched.

They just need us to keep showing up.

And I do.

Every day.

Even on the days I have to gather myself before I gather them.