Sometimes I imagine the day when things are finally calm. A small place of my own. A fridge with food in it. A night where I can sleep without waking up screaming. Simple things. For some people those things are normal, but for me they would mean everything.
And maybe one day I’ll sit across from my aunt and uncle again. Not as a scared kid, but as someone who survived. Someone who made it. I won’t come with anger. I’ll come with peace. Because if I learned anything from all of this, it’s that hurt people often hurt others.
But the cycle can stop somewhere.
Maybe it stops with me.
And maybe that’s the reason I’m still here
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