A Quiet Flame I Learned to Protect

My presence is deliberate.

Not loud.

Not sharp.

But steady—like a low flame that never goes out.

It doesn’t demand attention.

It waits.

Those who slow down long enough can feel it humming beneath the surface,

a quiet strength that settles into the chest

and reminds you to breathe again.

It’s the kind of calm I once chased in distractions,

in noise,

in things that promised escape but delivered emptiness.

This calm doesn’t ask for anything in return.

🌿

What looks like lightness is not carelessness.

It is the reward of endurance.

I earned this softness through years of tension,

through nights where my mind carried more weight than my body could explain,

through battles no one applauded because they were fought in silence.

My spirit learned how to release what it could not control

and refine what it could.

It has been shaped by friction,

smoothed by reflection,

strengthened by choosing peace over pride.

If you listen closely,

you can hear the stillness that comes *after* the storm has passed.

I carry that stillness with me now.

🌊

The clarity within me is not fragile.

It doesn’t fade with age,

or bend under opinion,

or dim when misunderstood.

It exists independent of the body that houses it—

untouched by time,

unbothered by judgment.

Experience didn’t harden it.

It taught it discernment.

Joy doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

Wisdom doesn’t need heaviness to be true.

I protect this inner simplicity fiercely,

because I know how rare it is

to move through the world without letting it corrode you.

✨

I have shed what was never mine to carry.

Old guilt.

Borrowed shame.

Expectations rooted in fear.

What remains is alignment—

a resonance with something vast and unseen,

a current that renews itself without effort.

You cannot drain it.

You cannot steal it.

You can only feel it

if you allow yourself to be open.

If you are searching for that quiet warmth,

stand close.

Not to imitate it—

but to remember it.

It lives in you, too.