1. There is a truth in me
that hums like a low current—
warm, alive, impossible to ignore.

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2. I know who I am
in the quiet rooms,
in the days I spend away,
where my pulse slows
and I can breathe without bracing.

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3. But honesty is a tender thing.
It asks for resilience,
for a courage I don’t always have.
Some days I can hold myself whole,
and others I fold—

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4. a letter creased too many times,
edges worn from revisiting
the same conversations,
the same ache.

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5. My family loves me.
I know this.
But their love comes threaded
with beliefs that unravel me.
They speak in certainties
that contradict my existence,

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6. and I stagger around them
like I’m relearning gravity.
I become quieter, smaller—
a version of myself
I’m trying so hard to outgrow.

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7. I feel guilty for the distance,
for the relief that blooms
when I’m not there.
It feels like betrayal—
that I breathe easier
miles away from the people
who raised me.

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8. But it’s also truth.
Honest truth.
The kind that settles in my chest
like a stone and a key
at the same time.

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9. I miss them in flashes—
a joke, a memory,
the way a room feels full
when we’re all together.

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10. I love them fiercely.
I always have.
But love shouldn’t hurt this way,
shouldn’t make me question
the shape of my own reflection.

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11. So I’m learning the rhythm
of being apart but not gone,
of visiting in small doses,
of leaving before I disappear
into who I used to be.

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12. I’m learning that distance
doesn’t mean I love them less—
it means I’m finally choosing
to love myself more.

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13. There is a truth in me
growing louder, steadier,
asking to be believed.
I may not always have the strength
to speak it out loud,
but I carry it.

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14. I hear it.
I’m trying every day
to live in its light. And maybe that’s enough
for now.

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