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This morning began in a cloud of weight—

a pressure so dense, I could barely breathe.

But somewhere deep, a voice whispered: try again.

I listened.

A long silence on the line.

Then—connection.

A door opened,

and what seemed impossible began to move.

Later, as light settled back into my chest,

I picked up the thread.

Stitch by stitch,

I returned to myself—

not as I was, but softer, more grateful.

The cocoon had split open.

And once again,

I found proof in the smallest acts

that I am never alone.