The Day I Didn't Go Back

It wasn’t fireworks.

It wasn’t holy oil.

No angels whispered.

No thunder split the sky.

Just silence.

And a thought I used to obey.

The voice came:

“Check the phone.

Maybe someone finally missed you.”

But I didn’t.

“Unblock him.

Maybe he’s changed.”

But I didn’t.

“Reach out.

Don’t you miss being wanted?”

But I didn’t.

I sat in my pajamas.

Unshaved.

Unmade.

Unbothered.

A little breath left from sleep,

some fish and bread on my lap,

and peace in the room.

I didn’t pray out loud.

I didn’t scream healing into the walls.

I just didn’t go back.

I let the ghost knock,

and I didn’t answer.

I let the hunger rise,

and I didn’t feed it.

I felt the ache,

and I stayed with it—

until it passed.

And when it passed,

I realized:

This is what strength looks like—

not showing up for what already buried me.

This is what power feels like—

stillness.

Silence.

Staying with myself.

No one clapped.

No one texted “I’m proud of you.”

But my spirit stood up and said:

We’re free now.

We’re not going back.

-The Soft Witness