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.