FADING / HOLDING

Some days I feel myself slipping,

like the edges of me are losing shape —

not breaking,

just drifting out of focus

like a photograph touched too many times.

I keep moving anyway,

slow steps through a world

that doesn’t wait,

that doesn’t soften,

but somehow still lets me pass through it

without demanding more light

than I can give.

I’m fading,

but I’m holding —

small glow, quiet pulse,

still here.

The sky leans gray tonight,

heavy with unsaid things,

and the air feels thick

with moments I haven’t lived yet

but already miss.

I breathe through it,

let the ache settle,

let the weight become a blanket

instead of a burden.

The world hums on

with or without me,

and there’s a strange comfort in that —

knowing I don’t have to shine

to belong.

I can be dim

and still be real.

Some nights are just soft surrenders,

slow falls into gentle dark.

Some nights,

the best you can do

is stay.

And I do.

I stay.

I hold what hasn’t left,

and let go of what already has.

Fading,

but holding —

a faint ember

learning not to fear

its own quiet.