I call back my peace, piece by piece.
Not in thunder, not in tears —
but in quiet reclamation,
where my breath learns to stay.

The moon nods, knowing.
She’s seen me scatter before —
seen my light leave in shards
when I mistook survival for stillness.

Now, I gather the fragments
like seashells at low tide,
each one a soft reminder
that even broken things sing
when the ocean returns.

So I sit in her silver hush,
let forgiveness find me
in places I once refused to look.
And I build myself again —
not perfect, but whole enough to shine.

☽ • ☾ • ☽

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