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The war within ceased.

Now, I drink tea with silence—

both of us at peace.

There was a time when every thought was a battlefield—when I woke up armed with doubts, defended myself with perfectionism, and marched through the day wearing masks heavier than armor.

But peace didn’t come as a victory. It came as a surrender.

To softness.

To solitude.

To the truth that I don’t need to win against myself.

Now, I sit quietly. The tea is warm. The silence doesn’t accuse me—it sits beside me like a friend. And in that stillness, I find a fragile kind of strength.

Not triumphant. Just real.