Still Breathing

Some nights feel endless,

like the air itself is tired of me,

like every thought stacks up

and leans its full weight on my chest.

I don’t want to be brave.

I don’t want to be strong.

I just want the ache to loosen its grip,

just once.

The tears come any way

quiet at first,

then relentless,

as if my body knows something

my mouth can’t say out loud.

Worthless is a word

that learned my name early.

It whispers in mirrors,

in pauses,

in the silence after everyone else

seems to move on just fine.

I cry because I’m exhausted.

I cry because hoping hurts.

I cry because even breathing

feels like work some days.

And still

somehow

I stay.

Not because it’s easy.

Not because I believe the lies will stop.

But because there is a thin,

trembling part of me

that refuses to disappear.

It doesn’t shine.

It doesn’t roar.

It just keeps me here,

breathing through the worst moments,

waiting for the pain to pass

even when I don’t believe it will.

Maybe that doesn’t feel like strength.

Maybe it feels like nothing at all.

But staying

through the tears,

through the feeling of being small

is not nothing.

It is survival.

And tonight,

that is enough.