Blue and Brave

I'd forgotten I was a somebody. A person. Just like you. Just like anyone.
That I have stories, too. That my dreams and thoughts and actions matter, too. They do.
I lost the path, if I ever was on one. Maybe I'm making my way back or maybe even finding it for the first time. I'm starting to see promise, starting to believe what I always wanted to believe and feel in my own time and flesh. It doesn't matter if this is seen. Writing makes it more real. I learn and know and understand that I matter, too. Of course I do. I feel more confident in my anger and feelings and pain and joy and all of it. That I know I'd be fine and I am fine. What a joy, what a necessity. Become your own best friend, they told me. I used to think it impossible or maybe understood it a bit odd and out-of-reach. But I've found something, something more. Something that feels such a peace, such a comfort. Whether here or there. My toes are blue and my eyes, they are open, too. Walking forward, alive and alert. I feel unafraid, less than ever before. And that, it reminds me that I am brave.