still I rise toward the light

My heart is a quiet battlefield, where heartbreak whispers its old, familiar fear— the fear of not being enough, of falling short in the eyes of those I love, even the ones now held in heaven’s gentle arms. I keep wishing I could make them proud, even when I’m still learning how to stand as my own person, how to breathe without breaking, how to wake up without waiting for footsteps that will never cross my doorway again. I still look at the front door sometimes, half-believing my friend might walk through, laughing like she used to, as if heaven didn’t need her more than I did. Loss sits heavy on my chest— a knot of anger, hurt, and unanswered questions— yet somewhere in the quiet, I feel God reminding me that broken things aren’t finished things. And even in the ache, even in the emptiness, something soft inside me knows I’m going to be okay. Because love doesn’t disappear, and neither do the people who gave it. They walk with me in every breath, every step, every piece of strength I don’t yet realize I have. And one day, when the weight feels lighter, I’ll look back and see that I was becoming whole all along