Dear Catastrophe...

[0:06]That moment, the one I swore would never be spoken of again. The shattering that tore the song from my chest and left only silence to hum in its place. I spent lifetimes despising it, the calamity that cracked the mirror of who I was. But listen, I have lived long enough to see what the ruin became. The shards when rearranged by time formed windows, and through them light entered me in ways perfection never could. I once begged the cosmos to undo it, to rewind the hour where everything went wrong. But even the stars refused, as if they knew that without that ruin, I would have never learned the language of rebuilding. You see, pain is a sculptor with unsteady hands. It does not carve gently, but it creates truth, and I was truthless before I bled. Now I look at what once broke me, and feel something holy stir in the fracture. Because it taught me that not all losses are graves. Some are gardens that just took longer to bloom. So I love it now, the storm, the silence. The scar that glows faintly beneath my ribs. I love it because it was the first thing that ever taught me how to live without armor. And when I whisper to the past, I do not ask it to return. Because it was not the end of me. It was the beginning I never would have chosen, but always needed.