To the one who couldn’t.

You knew the truth long before you knew the words,
knew love should not wear the face of fear,
yet silence became the language you survived on. You held your tongue like a fragile bridge,
afraid one honest sentence would bring the sky down, afraid your world would end where your voice began.

So you waited for someone to notice the cracks, someone to clear a path through the dark,
but the years passed,
and no one came.

Still, somewhere beneath the trembling,
a small stubborn hope refused to die.
You gathered the pieces of yourself you had spent years holding together,
and with shaking hands, you became the way
you were waiting for.

The voice that once hid behind fear rose like dawn after a long night, and though it quivered, it carried truth.

To the one who couldn’t, you did.