I’ll Be Okay

I keep telling myself

I’ll be okay—

like it’s something

I can decide

and not something

I have to live through first.

Like saying it enough times

will turn it into truth

before I’m ready to believe it.

Some days

it almost works.

I move through the hours

without falling apart,

without letting the weight

pull me under.

I answer questions,

smile when I’m supposed to,

pretend this version of me

is steady.

But “almost”

isn’t the same

as okay.

It’s quieter than that—

a careful balance

between holding it together

and feeling it slip.

And still—

I don’t give up on it.

On the idea

that one day

those words

won’t feel borrowed.

That I won’t have to convince myself

of something

I already am.

Maybe okay

isn’t a destination.

Maybe it’s this—

showing up

even when I don’t feel right,

staying

even when leaving

would be easier.

Maybe it’s not about

feeling whole.

Maybe it’s about

not disappearing

in the process

of trying to be.