i didn’t notice the moment it happened. the moment the air shifted from borrowed to mine.
for months i was breathing through someone else’s hands.
their rhythms.
their absences.
their storms.
and when they finally stepped away, i felt the collapse like a body forgetting how to inhale.
quiet.
violent.
ordinary.
so i built my way out.
not with epiphanies.
not with revelations.
just with work.
discipline.
a lot of honest nights alone.
a lot of empty mornings.
the slow return of pulse.
somewhere in that routine my lungs stopped searching for a regulator.
the panic softened.
the world widened.
and i started generating my own oxygen again.
this wasn’t rebirth.
this wasn’t regrowth.
it was engineering.
forging.
restructuring whatever was left of me into something self-sustained.
i am not lighter now. i am not softer. i am not untouched by what happened.
i am simply breathing on my own.
and yet i can’t stop wishing that the outcome was different.
cause despite everything that happened, i do not regret a single second.
i’ll cherish it forever.
the fact it hurt as much as it did means i, for the first time in my life, allowed myself to love fully.
to be hit meant it mattered.
and that is a privilege i’ll never forget.