The first breath

The first breath after breaking was not a roar,

It was a whisper,

a fragile yes in the rubble of all my no’s.

It tasted like dust,

like silence held too long, like lungs unsure they deserved air again.

But it came;

not loud,

not proud,

but it came.

And in that breath, the tiniest seed of something new took root.

Not strength.

Not clarity.

Just the willingness to stay.

So,

I’m still here.