That stillness they fear? That’s your victory. That’s silence; that’s your trumpet blast. When you stop playing along, their whole act collapses under its own weight. Because they never hunted weakness; they hunted your light, your love, your goodness. When they couldn’t contain it, they tried to crush it. But they didn’t win; they can’t win.
Because here you are: still rising, still breathing, still burning with a flame they can’t touch. You don’t need to clap back, but you don’t need to prove anything. Just rise, just walk, just whisper freedom into your own chest. You don’t need to win the argument; you just need to leave the arena.
And if your soul cracked open while reading this, if something inside you whispered, “This is it; this is the turn,” then don’t brush it off. Don’t scroll past it or sit with it. Let it burn, let it heal, let it remind you: you weren’t made to survive the fire; you were made to become it.
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