Previous Chapter:
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The Day I Didn't Notice the Weight
I didn’t realize it had gotten lighter until I noticed I wasn’t holding my breath anymore.
There was no milestone.
No celebration.
No music swelling in the background.
Just a morning that felt… different.
I woke up before the alarm.
The sky was still a gentle gray, not quite dawn.
And instead of curling into the familiar ache, I just… lay there.
Breathing.
I stretched.
Not out of obligation. Not because some self-help list told me to.
Just because it felt good.
Then I got up.
Opened the window.
Let the morning in.
The world looked the same.
But I didn’t.
I made coffee.
Hummed a tune I didn’t recognize.
And smiled at the plant I’d forgotten I’d been watering -- somehow, it had survived too.
There were still cracks in me.
Still moments that stung without warning.
Still nights where silence pressed too tightly.
But that day, I noticed something else.
I was present.
Not stuck in the ache of yesterday.
Not anxious for tomorrow.
Just here.
I went for a walk, no destination in mind.
Watched a child chase pigeons.
Saw an old woman feeding strays with quiet devotion.
The world hadn’t changed.
But I had stopped hiding from it.
I passed by a bookstore and walked in, drawn by nothing but instinct.
Picked up a journal.
Not to bleed into --
But to build from.
The cashier smiled. I smiled back.
It was such a small moment.
But for someone who once believed they’d never feel anything again…
That smile felt like a revolution.
I won’t pretend I’m healed.
Healing isn’t a final chapter -- it’s the thread running through all the ones still to come.
But I’m no longer standing at the edge, waiting for the fall.
I’ve stepped back.
Turned around.
And started walking -- slowly, quietly, but forward.
For the first time in what feels like forever…
I’m not trying to escape the dark.
I’m learning to live with the light.
Ashes and After : 10 Pages that Bled
Previous Chapter: https://www.chatzozo.com/forum/threads/ashes-and-after-9-the-space-between.62406/ _____________________________ Pages That Bled It started with a blank page. Not because I planned to write. I was just cleaning. Sorting through drawers that hadn’t seen light in months. And...
www.chatzozo.com
______________________________
The Day I Didn't Notice the Weight
I didn’t realize it had gotten lighter until I noticed I wasn’t holding my breath anymore.
There was no milestone.
No celebration.
No music swelling in the background.
Just a morning that felt… different.
I woke up before the alarm.
The sky was still a gentle gray, not quite dawn.
And instead of curling into the familiar ache, I just… lay there.
Breathing.
I stretched.
Not out of obligation. Not because some self-help list told me to.
Just because it felt good.
Then I got up.
Opened the window.
Let the morning in.
The world looked the same.
But I didn’t.
I made coffee.
Hummed a tune I didn’t recognize.
And smiled at the plant I’d forgotten I’d been watering -- somehow, it had survived too.
There were still cracks in me.
Still moments that stung without warning.
Still nights where silence pressed too tightly.
But that day, I noticed something else.
I was present.
Not stuck in the ache of yesterday.
Not anxious for tomorrow.
Just here.
I went for a walk, no destination in mind.
Watched a child chase pigeons.
Saw an old woman feeding strays with quiet devotion.
The world hadn’t changed.
But I had stopped hiding from it.
I passed by a bookstore and walked in, drawn by nothing but instinct.
Picked up a journal.
Not to bleed into --
But to build from.
The cashier smiled. I smiled back.
It was such a small moment.
But for someone who once believed they’d never feel anything again…
That smile felt like a revolution.
I won’t pretend I’m healed.
Healing isn’t a final chapter -- it’s the thread running through all the ones still to come.
But I’m no longer standing at the edge, waiting for the fall.
I’ve stepped back.
Turned around.
And started walking -- slowly, quietly, but forward.
For the first time in what feels like forever…
I’m not trying to escape the dark.
I’m learning to live with the light.
