I’ve traversed through fog So dense, I lost sight of what light resembled. Forgot the sound of my own laughter— As if it belonged to another person, In a different existence. Awoke with a burden I couldn’t identify. A smile on autopilot. A heart running on "low battery." And dreams? They were merely tales I used to share with myself Before the silence became too overwhelming to speak over. Indeed… Depression doesn’t knock. It seeps in. Slowly. Unnoticed. Like fog creeping in at 4 a.m.— Silent, Yet heavy. And suddenly You can’t see more than a couple of steps ahead. But here’s what they don’t reveal about the fog: You don’t need to see the sun To know it’s still present. You don’t have to feel joy today To trust it will return tomorrow. You don’t have to run. You just need to breathe. Step. Repeat. Because healing doesn’t shout. It whispers. It’s the small things that guide you home. Like getting out of bed When your body pleads you not to. Like responding to a text Even when your heart is muted. Like deciding to stay One more day When the exit signs Seem louder than your name. That’s bravery. That’s resilience. That’s you— Moving through the grey When everything urges "stop." And gradually, Step by shaky step, You rediscover parts of yourself. In a song that resonates. In a stroll beneath trees that don’t ask questions. In the gentle voice that says, "I’m proud of you, Even if today All you did was survive." See, the fog doesn’t signify you’re lost. It simply indicates you’re in transition. Between who you were And who you’re evolving into. And sometimes, The brightest version of you Is waiting On the other side of the dim. So don’t surrender in the midst. Hold on. You’re not shattered— You’re evolving. ©️ James Michael