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To the Heart That Beats Within Me,
I write to you not in shame, not in haste, but in stillness— where the soul meets truth and the mirror stops lying.
You have carried so much. Too much. Weight that was never yours to bear. And yet, you kept walking. Even on days when your own breath felt borrowed.
I want you to know— you are not broken. You are a mosaic of stories and storms, stitched together with gold where others saw cracks. A living testament to rising.
Self-love is not loud. It is not always pretty. Sometimes, it is whispering, “I will stay,” when the world tells you to run. It is choosing rest instead of punishment, choosing presence over perfection.
You are not too much. You are not behind. You are not unworthy of joy, of softness, of someone looking at you and seeing home. And that someone must be you, too.
You don’t need to shrink to be beautiful. You don’t need to hustle to matter. You don’t need to chase love— when you are love.
So exhale. Take up space. Cry if you must, but do not apologize for feeling. There is bravery in your vulnerability. There is magic in your survival. And there is peace waiting patiently for you to return to yourself.
You are the poem, the prayer, the promise. And I love you— wildly, quietly, without condition, forever.
With all that I am, Me
I write to you not in shame, not in haste, but in stillness— where the soul meets truth and the mirror stops lying.
You have carried so much. Too much. Weight that was never yours to bear. And yet, you kept walking. Even on days when your own breath felt borrowed.
I want you to know— you are not broken. You are a mosaic of stories and storms, stitched together with gold where others saw cracks. A living testament to rising.
Self-love is not loud. It is not always pretty. Sometimes, it is whispering, “I will stay,” when the world tells you to run. It is choosing rest instead of punishment, choosing presence over perfection.
You are not too much. You are not behind. You are not unworthy of joy, of softness, of someone looking at you and seeing home. And that someone must be you, too.
You don’t need to shrink to be beautiful. You don’t need to hustle to matter. You don’t need to chase love— when you are love.
So exhale. Take up space. Cry if you must, but do not apologize for feeling. There is bravery in your vulnerability. There is magic in your survival. And there is peace waiting patiently for you to return to yourself.
You are the poem, the prayer, the promise. And I love you— wildly, quietly, without condition, forever.
With all that I am, Me
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