So you’ll always have your time to shine,
even in the winter of your darkest hour.
Not a blazing sun—
just a flicker, a pulse,
the last light in a body that refuses to die.
Some nights the world will feel engineered
to swallow you whole,
to freeze every soft part of you solid.
You’ll mistake numbness for peace,
silence for safety,
and you’ll wonder if the darkness
is the only thing that ever truly understood you.
But even then—
in the coldest corner of your own mind,
where even your breath trembles—
something small will keep glowing,
not out of hope,
but out of spite.
A refusal to disappear.
A spark no night has earned.
A reminder that the world can’t bury
what it never built.
Not all light is gentle.
Some of it survives by burning.
Through the Fog 