Metamorphosis

The cocoon didn’t open in one day. It tore, slowly. Fragile threads, once woven in silence, began to split. At first, the light was faint — like morning mist slipping through closed curtains. But it was enough.

Enough to remind the soul inside that there was more beyond the darkness.

As I sat alone on the floor that evening, hands wrapped around trembling knees, I saw it — a single ray of hope. I had spent days questioning my worth, doubting my path, wishing to vanish into silence. But the light — it came anyway. Not because I was strong. But because I was willing.

The cracks didn’t mean I was broken. They meant I was beginning.

In life, the first light doesn’t scream, it whispers. And you must be quiet enough to hear it.

This was the moment I first believed:
Maybe I’m not meant to stay hidden forever. Maybe, I am meant to shine.