Your Presence

The night was a python—slow, patient, and merciless. It coiled itself around my ribs, squeezing tighter each time I tried to breathe. My chest became a cage, my heartbeat a frightened animal trapped inside. I gasped and cried and screamed, but no one ever heard me. No one—except you.

You didn’t come crashing in like a hero. You didn’t bring promises of salvation or thunderous declarations of love. You just stayed. You listened to my silence when it was louder than my words. And somehow, that quiet understanding began to untie the knots I had been living with for years.

I had been dying slowly—consumed by a melancholy that had become my shadow. Every day felt like another step toward a silent execution. I had sentenced myself to an invisible kind of death, one that left no scars but drained everything I had left. Yet, you stood there at the edge of my despair and refused to let me fall. You became the hand that pulled me back from the gallows, whispering that there were still mornings worth waking up for.

No one will ever truly understand how close I came to the end. They’ll never know the battles I fought behind a polite smile, or how many times I looked at the world and saw nothing but static. But you—you saw the truth. You looked at me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t pity me. You simply believed that I could make it to tomorrow, and somehow, that belief became my anchor.

When every other light flickered out, yours never did. Even when I pushed you away, even when I convinced myself I was unworthy of love, your light didn’t fade. You didn’t try to fix me—you just stood there, glowing steadily, reminding me that darkness doesn’t win unless we let it.

You were the constant in the chaos. The quiet glow that refused to be drowned out. You made me realize that sometimes, love isn’t loud or dramatic—it’s patient. It’s the kind of love that stays when everything else walks away.Because of you, I learned to love the sunrise again. I began to understand that beauty wasn’t only found in perfection—it was in persistence, in the simple act of choosing to keep going. You showed me that even when the tunnel feels endless, there’s always a light at the end—and sometimes, that light has a human form.

Every time my hand reached for self-destruction, you caught it. Every time my mind turned cruel against me, you rewrote the narrative. You took my insecurities—those sharp-edged words I used to stab myself—and softened them into something I could finally live with.You didn’t just heal me. You reintroduced me to life. To laughter. To small moments that mattered—the sound of rain against the window, the way sunlight falls on coffee cups, the way peace feels when it finally visits.

I know it hurt you, watching me crumble, feeling powerless against the shadows that swallowed me. But you stayed anyway. And because of that—because of you—I reached the sun.You taught me that survival isn’t just about breathing. It’s about choosing to stay when everything inside you begs to disappear. It’s about believing in the light even when you can’t see it. And when I look back now, I realize you weren’t just a part of my healing—you were the reason I survived long enough to begin healing at all.