The Last Thing I Wanted

The last thing I wanted

was another lesson.

Another reason

to rebuild myself

from whatever was left

after the dust settled.

I was tired.

Tired of losing people.

Tired of losing sleep.

Tired of waking up

to the same ache

wearing a different name.

I wanted certainty.

Something I could hold

without wondering

when it would leave.

Something that stayed.

But life

has never been generous

with guarantees.

It gives you moments.

People.

Chances.

Then asks

what you learned

when they were gone.

And maybe

that’s why I’m still here—

not because I mastered

any of it,

but because every time

life knocked me down,

something stubborn in me

refused to stay there.

Even when I wanted to.

Even when the ground

felt more familiar

than standing.

So here I am.

Not healed.

Not finished.

Not transformed

into some wiser version

of myself.

Just still trying.

Still carrying hope

with dirty hands.

Still believing

there’s something ahead

worth walking toward.

And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe courage

isn’t feeling strong.

Maybe it’s taking

the next step

when you’re not sure

you have one left.