not because they're wilting,
but because i am.
and the quiet
it listens better than people do.

the tap creaks,
the light hums.
a kind of lullaby for the ones
who never learned how to rest.

a cracked mug stares from the sink,
still holding the ghost of yesterday's tea.
i let it be.
not everything broken needs fixing.

outside,
the world is asleep.
inside,
i am learning that survival can look like
clean counters,
wet soil,
and breathing softer.

i am not healed.
but i am here.
and sometimes,
that's enough to make something
bloom.