At some point, you realize that no one's coming to save you, no parent, no friend, no lover, no stroke of luck from the universe. It's just you, standing before the mirror, facing the reflection of all the storms you've survived and all the damage you still cradle like a wounded bird. The world doesn't pause for your healing, darling; it spins mercilessly on. And so, you learn to teach yourself the art of living, stumbling, falling, bleeding, but learning. You start unlearning the voices that told you who you should be, and begin listening to the quiet hum of who you already are. You let go of the comfort that comes with pain, the familiarity of chaos, and you start walking, maybe trembling, but walking nonetheless toward peace. Because no matter how heavy your past feels, it's not meant to be a chain; it's meant to be a lesson. You learn that being broken isn't poetic unless you're willing to rebuild. You learn to stop glorifying your wounds and start cleaning them. And somewhere along the way, beneath all the unlearning and unbecoming, you find something that almost feels like light, fragile, trembling, but real. So, tell me, how long will you carry it forward, love? When will you finally set it down and walk free?