Between Bruises & Blooms

There is a place
no map has ever marked,
a narrow path
between my shadow
and my soul.

My shadow
remembers every bruise,
every goodbye,
every name
I whispered long after
it stopped answering.

It keeps the weight
of sleepless mornings,
cold coffee,
half-smoked cigarettes,
and the silence
that settles after babies
finally drift to sleep.

But my soul—

My soul still plants flowers
in broken ground.

It still pauses
to rescue frogs from busy roads,
to pet forgotten cats,
to admire abandoned houses
where ivy writes stories
across forgotten walls.

My shadow asks,
“How many times can a heart
be broken?”

My soul replies,
“As many times
as it learns to bloom again.”

So I keep walking
that thin space between them,
where grief holds one hand
and hope holds the other.

Neither wins.

Neither leaves.

And somewhere
between my shadow
and my soul,

I finally become
someone who can carry both.