Between Bruises & Blooms

I let go of past pain
and choose joy.

Not because
the pain wasn’t real.

Not because
I have forgiven
every hand
that left a bruise,

every mouth
that made promises
it couldn’t keep,

every goodbye
that arrived
without asking
if I was ready.

I remember.

God,
I remember.

There are wounds
that know the weather.

Names
that still change
the rhythm of my breathing.

Rooms in my memory
I enter carefully,

because somewhere inside them
an older version of me
is still crying.

I don’t abandon her.

I sit beside her.

Take her shaking hands
into mine.

Tell her,

you don’t have to live here
forever.

Neither do I.

So I leave the door open
behind us.

And outside—

there are children laughing.

Coffee cooling
on the counter.

Cats stretched lazily
across blankets.

Sunlight
finding the floorboards.

Flowers blooming
without knowing
how many winters
came before them.

Life,

ordinary
and unbearably beautiful,

still happening.

I used to think
healing meant
the past would stop hurting.

Now I think
it means

the hurt stops deciding
what I am allowed
to feel next.

So yes,

I remember the darkness.

I remember
who I was inside it.

But I will not spend
the rest of my life
proving that I survived.

Today,

I laugh
without apologizing.

I love
without asking grief
for permission.

I let happiness
sit beside me
without wondering
how long until
it leaves.

And when joy
knocks,

I do not tell it

this house
has known too much sorrow
to make room for you.

I open the door.

Come in.

There is room here now.