In This Castle

They say it gets better.
Like that’s supposed to mean something
when you’re shattered on the floor.
When it feels like your chest’s caving in
and you can’t breathe
without choking on memories.

It gets better.
What a fucking joke.
They say it like a magic spell,
like I’m supposed to believe them
while everything inside me
is screaming.

But then
without warning
a day comes.

And it doesn’t hurt as bad.
You catch yourself smiling,
laughing even,
and you hate it at first.
Because how dare joy come back
after everything?

But there it is.
Sneaky.
Relentless.
Alive.

And you think,
Why the hell did that break me so badly?

And that’s when it hits you:
You’re healing.
Even if it’s slow, even if it’s messy,
you’re crawling out.

And one day
not today, maybe not tomorrow
but one fucking day,
you’ll wake up
and the pain will just be a memory.
A scar you wear, not a wound you bleed from.

You’ll laugh again.
Hard.
Loud.
Unapologetically.

And no one will get to tell you
what healing looks like.