They looked at her
with those knowing eyes,
as if time had wiped the slate,
as if moving on
meant forgetting.
But memory doesn’t vanish
it plants itself deep,
like thorns wrapped in roses,
blooming in silence
where no one sees.
She loved past the edges
with all her breath,
all her belief,
and when it shattered,
it didn’t just hurt
it hollowed.
They called it the past.
She calls it the forge.
Because pain didn’t end her
it remade her.
Every ache folded into motion,
every betrayal
a bellows fanning her fire.
She didn't rise in spite of it.
She rose because of it.
Not erased - reborn.
Not silenced - sharpened.
Now she walks with storm in her pulse,
vision in her scars,
and thunder in her heels.
She’s not healing to soothe
she’s healing to strike.
And no
she never forgot.
She turned memory into fuel,
grief into glow,
and the girl they once broke
into the woman they’ll never outrun.
She is the fire they lit
but she chose where it burns.
Not just a comeback. A claiming.
Unwritten. Unshaken. Unstoppable...
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