Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the quieter struggles… The ones that don’t always have a name but live in the shadows of our days. Writing this piece felt like a way of giving shape to that sadness, while also holding onto the little things that keep me afloat…

I’ve spent the last couple of years
in and out of a certain sadness…
depression, but not quite,
holding on to therapy to share
the things nobody else can know,
because some things are best left unsaid,
or spoken only to someone unbiased,
or whispered in prayer

Sadness can wear many faces,
and be many versions…
familiar pain
with roots I recognise
but can’t bear to name,
because naming it
means facing a reality
I don’t want to live

Yet, I find small reasons to stay afloat
the morning light through my bedroom window,
the rhythm of my feet on pavement,
the weight of the barbell
until my muscles burn louder
than my thoughts…

So I live with this weight,
not as an enemy,
but as a shadow that follows,
teaching me the shape of my own light…