Eight

Eight is the number I whisper

when I am learning how to breathe again—

a soft loop drawn in the air,

a reminder that endings

bend gently into beginnings.

Some days I feel like the broken half,

the side that dips too low,

the curve that doesn’t quite meet.

Other days, I’m the rising line,

lifting myself forward

with a courage I don’t always recognize.

Eight is a doorway,

a quiet turning of the soul—

a shape that holds both falling

and finding,

both losing

and learning to stay.

I trace it on paper,

slow and steady,

and it feels like a promise:

that every time life circles back,

I’ll meet myself a little wiser,

a little softer,

a little more whole

than before.

And maybe that’s the gift of the loop—

to know that even in the hard seasons,

there is always a place

where the lines connect again…

where the heart remembers

it is still allowed to grow.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi