"This is the first trumpet to sound in an empty concert hall.It’s rain against a window that’s..."

“This is the first trumpet to sound in an empty concert hall.

It’s rain against a window that’s always let a little water in.

This is for the words you wished you could pull back inside you,

but more than that,

it’s for the words you never let out.

.

This is a story of survival.

It is your story,

even when you feel like that word

does not belong to you.

.

This is a love song for your clumsy heart,

and all the times it sank into arms

that were too small for it.

For the mornings when getting out of bed

was the hardest thing you did all day.

This is a ballad of frightened breaths

in a mason jar on the bedside table.

.

I know—

You are not trying to move mountains.

You are not trying to brush shoulders with the universe.

All you want is enough room in your own chest

for a pair of lungs that hasn’t felt like yours in years.

.

So this is a reminder,

that—aside from everything else—

you are still here,

and you are still breathing.

And maybe you don’t always want to be.

And that’s what makes everything you are

so brave.

.

You have a small ocean inside of you;

You have the breath of a country in your lungs;

Your heart beats in time to the turn of the planet,

and you

are a force of nature

simply for making this far.

.

This is an “I love you.”

This is tucking you in at night.

This is a drumbeat, welcoming you home from war.

You are a white-knuckled miracle.

And you don’t have to fight anymore.”

- Survival, by Ashe Vernon