There was no music when it broke.

Just the sound of something splitting quietly

beneath the surface.

Not bone,

but belief.

I did not scream.

The silence felt more honest.

Pain came like a teacher,

without kindness,

without pause.

It peeled away the soft parts

and left only what could survive fire.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to vanish.

But the mirror held me still—

made me watch the shift,

the unmaking.

And still, I stayed.

This is how bleeding leads to beauty.

Not from the wound itself,

but from the truth it cannot hide.

The cracks became maps.

The scars wrote instructions.

And somewhere between the aching and the learning,

I stepped into the light

and did not flinch.