Whispers of the Quiet Sou

I walked through storms I never spoke of,

carrying thunder beneath my ribs,

and smiles stitched from borrowed light.

No one saw the weight I wore —

it had no sound,

only silence that screamed at night.

There was a time I thought strength

meant never breaking.

That calm meant control,

and love meant losing myself

just enough to be remembered.

But I learned —

even stillness has its storms.

Even peace has its price.

So I stopped asking the world

to understand my ache.

I began to whisper to my own heart,

“Let it go — not because it’s easy,

but because it’s time.”

I made peace with the parts of me

that once begged for closure,

the memories that came dressed as lessons,

and the lessons that arrived disguised as loss.

Every ending, I found,

is just love changing form —

a goodbye that teaches you to stay.

Now, I no longer run from the shadows.

I sit beside them,

pour them tea,

and ask what they’ve come to teach.

And sometimes,

they tell me stories

of a soul that bloomed after breaking —

of a heart that still believes

despite the ruin.

Because healing isn’t light or laughter alone;

it’s the sacred art of breathing

through what you once buried.

It’s forgiving yourself

for not knowing better before.

It’s realizing —

you are both the wound and the healer,

the question and the answer,

the silence and the song.

So tonight,

I write not to be read,

but to be real.

If these words find one restless heart

and remind it to rest —

then this poem has done its work.

Because true strength

is not in holding on,

but in knowing

when to finally let go.