1.
I wake with still breath.
The city hums outside me—
we both survived night.
2.
First cup of coffee,
hands still shake but less today—
this is how it starts.
3.
Sunlight on my face,
just for a second, I smile—
it’s real, and it stays.
4.
I walk to no place,
feet remembering the path—
healing wears no map.
5.
Books in the window,
I stop, read a single line—
it holds me steady.
6.
Pigeons scatter wide,
startled by my sudden laugh—
I didn’t fake it.
7.
Raindrops hit the glass,
but I do not brace this time—
let the sky release.
8.
Subway ride alone.
No fear in the tunnel dark—
just steel and forward.
9.
I write on napkins,
poems with my old rhythm—
my voice remembers.
10.
Therapist nods once.
A silence blooms in the room—
I don’t run from it.
11.
The mirror blinks back,
not perfect, but more complete—
I see someone whole.
12.
Streetlights flicker on,
but I don’t take that as threat—
just light being light.
13.
Old haunts feel softer.
Nothing pulls or pushes me—
I can just be here.
14.
My name in a text,
not a ghost or a warning—
just a friend, checking.
15.
Park bench. A deep breath.
I count the birds overhead—
none of them judge me.
16.
Fulton Street wind shifts—
no voices, no hidden codes—
just a crisp jacket.
17.
I eat, not to fill,
but because I want the taste—
spice lands like a win.
18.
Music in my ears,
I don’t skip the sad love songs—
some things just sound good.
19.
My room stays messy.
But I opened all the blinds—
light sprawls over flaws.
20.
Socks dry on the sill,
laundry hums a slow rhythm—
order in the spin.
21.
I call my mother.
She breathes in my quiet voice—
says, “I’m proud of you.”
22.
In the East River,
I watch the tide take old pain—
then bring back nothing.
23.
A cab honks, I laugh.
Not at them—but just because—
my chest feels roomy.
24.
I sleep without weight.
Dreams don’t drag me under now—
they just drift, like fog.
25.
The skyline glows still.
And I do not chase or flee—
I stand. I inhale.
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