Another year around the sun,

for me, a journey’s far from fun.

The candles flicker, the faces cheer,

Yet inside, drowning in fear.

Three hundred sixty-five days, a feat,

A race I ran with weary feet.

They call it triumph, a battle won,

I wonder softly, a look of stun

An angel descended, soft and bright,

Her presence casting a gentle light.

I whispered low, my heart in pain,

“Only friends and family keep me chained.”

She smiled, her eyes a knowing sea,

“Perhaps this place is not your destiny.

Take my hand, we’ll wander far, Beyond the sorrow, past every scar.”

But I held on tight to the fleeting day, “What of the love that begs me to stay?” She paused, her wings a silver glow, “Love is a tether, but peace you must know.”

“There’s strength,”** she whispered, **“in holding tight, But more in seeking your own true light. It isn’t death that makes pain cease, It’s finding a way to make your peace.”

And so I stood, between two doors, One of shadows, one of shores. The night grew long, the air grew still, A choice was mine, of strength or will.

I’ll walk this road one step, one breath, A fragile dance with life and death. For birthdays mark not just the years, But every triumph, every tear.

So light the candles, let them burn, A flame for each lesson I have learned. For even when my heart feels weak, There’s hope in every word I speak.