I fumbled. I fell.
I lost my grip on who I thought I was,
slipping through the cracks of my own foundation.
The world spun faster than I could hold it,
and I crumbled under the weight of my undoing.
I cried—
not just tears, but fragments of my soul,
fractured and desperate,
bleeding into the void of “what if.”
I became humble,
not by choice but by necessity,
terrified of the lies I fed myself
when the dark whispered louder than my hope.
I fumbled.
Unraveled.
Came undone like a threadbare promise,
dangling at the edge of oblivion.
But still, I’m alive.
I woke to the brittle light of morning,
staring at a reflection I no longer recognized.
And I changed.
I changed the transformation,
the trajectory of a life suspended in time.
No longer aligned with the pull of eclipses,
I stepped out of the shadows
and stumbled toward the sun.
The curbside of my life,
once cold and desolate,
burned with a heat I didn’t think I could bear.
I lost life.
A life was lost inside me,
drowning beneath regrets I couldn’t undo.
I fumbled every line,
every word I tried to write in redemption’s ink.
And waking up,
finding myself again,
has never felt the same.
My heart—
oh, how it bleeds—
for wounds I never asked for
and healing I thought would never come.
My mind has shifted,
altered by the quake of my pain,
forced to rebuild on uncertain ground.
And still, I fumbled.
I became unalive,
only to rise again,
reborn not as who I was,
but as who I was meant to be.
Alive.
Breathing through the fractures,
moving through the ache,
I gathered the pieces I thought I’d lost
and created something new.
This time,
I will not fumble.
If I fall,
it will be forward.
If I cry,
it will be for joy.
And if I change again,
it will be to embrace the light
that I once feared. 👀💕
Nisha journey now seen
