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Before the first death came, I was everything at once. I was whole but didn't know it. Wore myself, like borrowed clothing. Spoke with someone else's voice. Dreamed in shapes too small for my body. They said, ""Find yourself."" But I was everywhere. In every compromise. In every ache. In every smile that didn't reach my spine. I didn't lose myself all at once. I died in moments. In fragments. In whispers. Thirty times-each softer and more necessary than the last. This is not a story of survival. This is a story of shedding. Of saying ""No, not this,"" until what remains feels like truth. If you are here, reading, reaching-you've died a few times too. And if you haven't, you will. But don't be afraid. Sometimes we have to disappear to become visible.

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