Eye of Her

The storm is rising

Again.

Not outside—

Within.

A tightening spin,

A familiar din,

Where doubts begin

And courage thins.

I try to stand

In the eye

Of my own sky,

But the wind asks why

I even try.

It pulls at the seams

Of unfinished dreams,

At silent screams,

At fragile schemes

I built from hope

And thin white beams

Of almost-love

And what-could-have-beens.

I am tossed

Across regret,

Across the debt

Of words unsaid,

Of chances fled,

Of tears I never let

Be shed.

I am small

In the squall,

Back against the wall,

Watching pieces fall

Of who I was

Before it all.

And I

Drop.

Slow.

Low.

Into the undertow

Of no one knows

How heavy

Heavy grows.

This pit is deep.

It does not sleep.

It hums.

It keeps.

It reaps

The promises

I could not keep.

And I am tired

Of fighting tides

That pull from inside

With nowhere to hide.

…

Then—

Through the gray,

A softer sway.

A quiet stay.

She does not chase

The storm away.

She steps

Into the fray.

She meets my eyes

As if to say,

You are not your worst day.

Her smile

Does not blaze—

It warms.

It stays.

It gently lays

A line of rays

Across the maze

Of my dark phase.

(At me?)

Yes.

At me.

Like I am worth

The light I see.

She takes my shaking hands

In hers,

And nothing stirs

The way it was.

The wind

Loses its cause.

The noise withdraws.

And through the flaws

I see because

She sees

Beyond

What breaks

In me.

She does not fix.

She does not mend

With magic tricks

Or false pretend.

She simply bends

Beside my end

And says,

Begin again.

And something shifts.

The spiral lifts.

The weight that drifts

Inside my ribs

Untwists.

Not gone—

But less.

Not healed—

But blessed

With this:

A witness.

A presence.

A steady yes.

…

I know

I must rise

On my own.

I know

I must stand

Alone.

But sometimes

The hardest stone

Is not the fall—

It is feeling

Unknown.

And she

Makes the dark

Feel less like home.

So when the storm

Returns once more,

When doubt

Knocks at the door,

When I feel

Pulled to the floor—

I remember

Her smile

Like a shore.

And I am not

Lost

Anymore.

Because someone

Saw me

In my worst weather

And chose

To stay.

And that

Is love.

Tell me—

Have you ever been

Someone’s shelter?

Or needed one

This way?

******

Thank you for reading.

Writing this was a deep dive into struggle, strength, and the quiet moments that define us. I’d love to know—how did it make you feel? Which parts spoke to you the most?