eternal 7

@Harini1609 She realized then:
            maybe healing wasn’t about fixing what was broken,
            but learning to live beautifully despite it.
            The cracks were part of her now  reminders of everything she had survived.
            They caught the light when nothing else could.
            And so, she kept walking.
            Not as the girl who was silenced,
            not as the victim of lies,
            but as the teacher who turned pain into empathy,
            and scars into strength.
            She no longer waited for apologies that would never come,
            nor for love that had already gone.
            She simply lived 
            quietly, honestly, bravely.
            And when she looked at her reflection one morning,
            she didn’t see a broken glass anymore.
            She saw a mosaic that
            made of pain and patience,
            of loss and learning,
            of cracks that let the light 
            Till now 

@Harini1609 Time moved, but she no longer counted it in years  only in mornings she managed to rise,
            and nights she managed to sleep.
            The pain had softened, not because it had left her,
            but because she had learned how to carry it without letting it crush her.
            She still saw her family every day.
            They spoke of small things weather, food, work  never the truth that still breathed between them.
            She smiled and nodded,
            not out of forgiveness,
            but because she no longer needed their understanding.
            Some wounds don’t need closure to heal  just distance, silence, and time.
            The man who had broken her childhood walked freely,
            his mask still polished for the world to see.
            And though the world never saw what he’d done,
            she no longer waited for it to.
            Truth, she had learned, doesn’t need an audience.
            It just needs courage to exist.
            And she had that finally.
            In her classroom, the children laughed,
            their voices like tiny stars in the dark corners of her heart.
            When they stumbled, she steadied them.
            When they cried, she listened.
            And when they doubted themselves,
            she told them the words she once needed most:
            “You are enough, exactly as you are.”
            Sometimes, in the quiet after class,
            she would sit by the window, the evening sun spilling gold across her hands.
            She would think of all she had lost  her grandmother’s soft lullabies,
            her brother’s fading trust,
            the golden-hearted friend who left too soon.
            The ache never truly left.
            But it became something gentler 
            like rain falling on broken glass,
            washing the dust away but leaving the cracks to shine.
            

@Harini1609 As if strength was meant to erase what was done.
            The man’s fake smile still fooled people.
            His lies still sounded softer than her truth.
            And in that cruel balance, his false face won and hers, the true one, was left unseen.
            But even broken glass catches the light.
            She learned that she didn’t need anyone to say sorry to keep going.
            She found peace not in forgiveness, but in her purpose.
            She taught her students to be kind, to listen, to never turn away from another’s truth.
            She taught them what the world had failed to teach her.
            And in those small moments  a smile, a laugh, a child saying “Thank you, teacher”  she found pieces of herself again.
            She was still lonely, yes.
            Still guarded, yes.
            Still broken in places no one could see.
            But she was also strong  not the kind people tell you to be,
            but the kind that keeps walking,
            keeps teaching,
            keeps living,
            even when no one ever said,
            “I’m sorry.”
            

@Harini1609 sorry

@Harini1609 

@Harini1609 I started writing poetry after my grandmother, the one person who truly believed in me, became a star in the sky. Since then, no one around me has supported this part of me  they don’t see the healing in my words, only reasons to silence them. Some even speak harshly, hoping I’ll stop. But writing eases something heavy in me. It’s how I still feel close to her. That’s why your kindness means more than you know just noticing my lines feels like someone finally saw the part of me I’ve kept hidden for so long."