This piece steps a little outside my usual storytelling. I wrote this for a friend—to remind her that moving forward can be a simple as opening a window. If you’ve gotten very good at holding it together, this might land with you.
I built walls
not to keep people out
but to hold myself together.
I learned to keep my voice steady
while my pulse sprinted.
I learned to smile
without handing over my heart.
I stacked my reasons.
Bruises hardened into blueprints.
Silence became a room
I could live inside.
Walls work.
They block the wind,
keep danger out.
But they dim the light,
thin the air.
Something in me—
stubborn, unfinished—
turns toward the light.
I open a window.
Cold rushes in, clean and alive.
My lungs ache.
I breathe anyway.
© 2026 Lynne Curry, published 3/17/26 by Ariel Chart International