Step inside. If you’re here tonight—door shut, heart loud, his words still ringing—you’re not wrong. You’re not weak. You’re just… hanging on. I know that knot: phone hidden, breath shallow, ‘maybe tomorrow’ on repeat. But here’s the quiet part: one step. Just one. A text. A walk. A locked drawer. That’s how you start.The bruises…

Step inside. The hands that once crushed me? They left fingerprints I turned into maps. I crawled out of that room—skin raw, voice gone, heart still thudding like it had something to prove. The floor was cold, the air tasted like rust, but I kept moving. One foot. Then another. Until the door cracked open…

Quiet, bruised, but rising. Step inside. The scars don’t fade. They just learn to glow.The lights are low, the words are old… and you’re still here.Whatever broke you?It bowed when you walked in