The Fire That Refused to Fade

A poem for anyone who’s ever felt lost, burned out, or forgotten—then realized their own spark never truly died.

There was a time

I mistook silence for peace,

and stillness for healing.

I stayed too long

in rooms that dimmed my flame,

thinking maybe if I became smaller,

the world would stop burning me.

But sparks don’t sleep forever.

They whisper in the ashes,

calling your name

when the night grows too heavy.

I remember the first breath

that didn’t hurt—

the first laugh that didn’t break.

How light found its way back

through the cracks of my skin,

turning my scars

into constellations.

I am not the storm,

nor the ruin left behind.

I am the pulse of what survived,

the melody that hummed through collapse.

There is no shame

in beginning again—

in loving the person

who rose from her own wreckage

and said,

“I’m still here.”

Now when the world asks

who I’ve become,

I say—

a wildfire learning tenderness,

a story still unfolding,

a fire

that refused to fade.