A heartbeat in my chest—constant, persistent, genuine. It whispers: remain. Even when the night casts its shadows over your identity, even when uncertainty weighs heavily on your back as if it has taken up residence there— you remain. This beat isn’t loud. It doesn’t scream over the turmoil. It doesn’t plead for recognition. It persists. It nudges against your ribs like a soft reminder: you’ve come this far on days you thought would shatter you. Do you recall those days? The ones where breathing felt laborious, where smiling felt like a falsehood you told to prevent the world from probing questions you had no answers for. And yet— you kept progressing. Step by step. Breath by breath. Moment by moment. Not beautiful. Not flawless. But authentic. And authenticity is more powerful than perfection ever was. See, suffering attempted to define you. Tried to inscribe your narrative in indelible ink. But you? You took the pen with trembling hands and rewrote the conclusion in survival. You are not what sought to bury you. You are what emerged without consent. That rhythm within you— it’s not merely existence. It’s defiance. It’s evidence that even when everything around you said “halt,” something inside you declared, “not yet.” So cling to that. Not hope as a far-off aspiration— but as a subtle force already residing in your chest. Because as long as that rhythm persists, so do you.