The Quiet Flame Within

I met her on a day I nearly broke— when silence weighed more than words I spoke.
Not in thunder, nor in flame, she came quietly—without a name.


 No shining armor, no warrior’s face, just steady eyes and quiet grace. She looked like me—weathered, worn— a soul once lost, now reborn.


 She grew not from the heights of cheer, but from each fall, each whispered fear. Not forged in ease, but in the ache, in every scar I tried to fake.


 She showed me strength is soft, not loud— not standing tall, but standing proud after every stumble, tear, and trial— with trembling heart, yet fierce denial.


 She taught me how to bend and heal, to grieve, to rise, to truly feel. And in her gaze, I found the truth: my pain had always held my proof.


 Since then, she walks beside my days— not shouting, but in quiet ways. My inner strength, a steady flame— reminding me, I am not the same.