There was a time

when I did not know the sound of my own breath

outside of breaking.

A time when the winter inside me

felt longer than the years I had lived,

when the weight of waiting

for the thaw

felt heavier than the cold itself.

I walked through seasons

where the sun was only a memory,

where love was a language

I had not yet learned to speak to myself.

I mistook survival for living,

mistook longing for love,

mistook silence for peace.

But something inside me

never stopped growing,

even when I couldn’t feel it.

Beneath the frost,

my roots were still reaching,

weaving their way toward the warmth

they swore was still out there.

And one day,

when I wasn’t even looking,

the ice cracked,

and I realized—I was still here.

The girl who once folded herself

into something smaller,

who begged the world for a love

that felt like home,

who thought she could only be seen

if someone else was looking—

she has turned to gold.

She is no longer waiting

for the seasons to be kind to her.

She has built the fire herself.

She has made peace with every version

that had to be left behind.

She has let go of the hands

that never learned to hold her gently.

She has found a home inside her own skin.

And now,

the wind no longer feels like an ending.

The storm is not something to fear.

The girl who once thought she would break,

who spent too many nights

believing the darkness would swallow her whole—

she has turned every loss into poetry,

every winter into rebirth,

every scar into a map

that led her back to herself.

She does not run from the past,

but she no longer lets it shape her.

She does not fear the unknown,

because she is the one rewriting the ending.

She does not chase love,

because she is love,

because she is light,

because she is here,

and that is enough.

The cocoon is empty.

The winter is over.

And she is free.

By: Sammi Lehmkuhl

February 28th, 2025