The Colours of Becoming

I stand in the in-between,
where the past whispers my name
and the future waits, unpainted,
a canvas both vast and uncertain.

Nine months of undoing,
of peeling back the layers of who I was,
only to find grief where I thought
there would be light

I thought the healing would feel like soaring,
like freedom, like finally being whole.
But some days, it feels like mourning,
like standing in the ruins of a life
I no longer fit inside.

I miss the girl who believed
the world was beautiful,
who thought that if she could just be ‘fixed’
everything would align.
She was naïve, but she was mine.

Now I know the truth-
the world does not offer beauty freely.
I must create it, shape it,
breathe it into existence.
Perfection was never waiting for me;
only the work of making something real.

So here I am,
brush in hand,
learning how to paint myself anew-
with compassion, with wisdom,
with colours I never even knew.

And though I ache for the old strokes,
the familiar lines,
I trust that someday,
this masterpiece of becoming
will feel like mine…