It’s not fireworks,
not a blinding glow,
just a spark buried deep,
woven in the marrow
of who I am.
It doesn’t demand attention,
doesn’t promise to lead the way.
It waits,
silent yet steady,
refusing to fade.
It lingers
in the moments I falter,
in the cracks
I swore to hide from you.
Not a guide,
but a pulse.
A quiet light rising,
holding steady
against the dark,
unseen, but mine forevermore.
reflections of an unquiet mind 