Something Human

The night finally loosened its grip.

I’m still standing — barely — but standing’s enough.

The ghosts are quieter now;

they hum instead of scream.

I spent months speaking in echoes,

chasing answers through static.

Now I just breathe,

and it feels like language again.

The world looks softer —

same scars, warmer light.

Maybe pain doesn’t fade;

maybe it just learns to glow.

Every bruise a color,

every tear a seed.

I’m made of every version of me

that refused to bleed.

I needed something human,

something that stays.

Not a promise,

just a hand that doesn’t pull away.

I’m done being perfect;

I just want real.

The kind of love

that knows how to heal.

I forgave myself for breaking.

Forgave the silence for staying.

Forgave the mirror

for showing a man still learning.

I don’t chase forever anymore—

I build it one breath at a time.

If heaven’s a feeling,

I’ve touched it in the dark.

If faith’s a heartbeat,

I’ve heard it restart.

No need for halos —

just warmth, just hands,

just the quiet truth

of being alive.

Something human,

something true.

Not the fantasy,

just me and you.

All the noise fades,

and I finally see—

the best parts of love

were teaching me to be.

No fire, no fight,

just a spark that feels right.

I’m not new,

but I’m alive.