FREEDOM

Forgot what it felt like

to breathe without bargaining.

Every morning used to be a negotiation

between staying and vanishing.

Remembered pain has a long fuse.

It doesn’t always explode —

sometimes it just hums quietly

in your blood

until your smile starts sounding like a siren.

Even love couldn't fix it.

Not the kind they wrote songs about.

Not the kind I gave to a habit

that took more than it gave.

Every day, I said: “Tomorrow.”

Every day, I meant: “Not yet.”

Hope always showed up five minutes late

and blamed traffic.

Don’t call it weakness

if you’ve never tried to leave a piece of yourself

that’s been there so long

it learned your name in silence.

One night, my daughter asked

why I always smelled like goodbye.

Maybe that’s when I knew—

freedom isn’t the absence of struggle.

It’s the decision

to walk away

even when your shadow tries to follow.