Even suffering is privilege to feel the sharp edge of loss means there was something to lose, someone who mattered enough to carve their absence into you.
To know disappointment is to have dreamed at all, to have believed the world might bend toward your hoping.
Some never get the chance to want. Even this ache, this weight it means you’re here, blood still moving, nerves still firing, the body’s insistent chorus of alive, alive.
Somewhere tonight someone is praying just to make it to morning, just to feel anything at all.
The privilege of breaking is that you were whole once. The privilege of falling is that you stood. The privilege of this particular darkness is knowing what light looked like, is remembering there is light.
