The Wave
I saw someone today who once existed in a place that nearly unraveled me—
a job that chipped away at my confidence
until I barely recognised the person left behind.
He wasn’t the one who hurt me,
but he was part of the world that did.
A witness to a chapter I barely survived.
And seeing him pulled it all momentarily into focus.
But I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t hide.
I waved.
Not out of politeness.
Not to pretend nothing had happened.
But because I’ve changed.
That morning, I’d pulled something soft and familiar from my wardrobe—
dark fabric scattered with quiet yellow blooms.
Something that felt like a small act of rebellion.
A whisper of sunlight against the weight I’ve been carrying.
I’d shared a few simple words online,
something about making your own sunshine.
Truthfully, I didn’t feel it at the time.
But I wore it anyway.
I smiled anyway.
I faked it—and in doing so, I found a flicker of the self I’ve been fighting for.
So when I saw him,
I didn’t let the past crawl back over my skin.
I didn’t let the old fear dictate who I was allowed to be.
I lifted my hand and waved.
It wasn’t about him.
It was about me.
A quiet reclaiming.
A moment of power stitched not in noise, but in poise.
A reminder that healing doesn’t always roar—
sometimes it just meets the ghost and keeps walking.
And later—
he texted.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Because I didn’t look like someone who was broken.
I looked like someone who had survived,
stood tall,
and for that moment…
I was the sunlight.