Wherever I go, I am not alone. I have walked through fire, through the wreckage of love that wasn’t love, through shadows that whispered my name like a curse. I have stood in rooms where the air was thick with the ghosts of all the things I could not save. And yet, I am here. I am breathing. I am untouched by the hands that once sought to break me.
There are angels at my back. Not the porcelain-winged kind from church ceilings, but warriors—scarred, relentless, carrying swords made of light. They have been with me in the dead of night, when fear curled in my ribs like smoke. They have stood between me and the monsters I have known, their presence turning every locked door into a sanctuary.
I do not always see them, but I feel them. When my voice does not shake though it should, when I move through the world with the quiet certainty that no harm will touch me the way it once did—that is their doing. They walk ahead of me, beside me, behind me. And because of them, I fear nothing.
Let the world bring what it will. Let the storms rage. Let the past try to reach for me with its cold, dead hands. It will find nothing to hold on to. I am shielded. I am carried. I am untouchable.
B🤍
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