I used to chase my lessons like lightning,
grabbing every flash before it burned out.
Now I sit in the rain and let the thunder teach me.

Every mistake I’ve made still hums in my bones,
but I don’t call it shame anymore.
I call it compost.
Everything I buried there grew me.

I have been reborn without ceremony,
without wings or witnesses,
only breath and consequence,
only truth and the steady turning of the earth.

This is how I came back to life:
not by force,
but by finally staying still long enough
to listen.

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