Hope Wore My Name in the Dark

In the dark,

when mirrors refused to recognize me

and silence felt heavier than truth,

hope did not arrive like light—

it arrived like my name,

softly spoken,

so I wouldn’t forget it.

The night tried to erase me.

Fear rewrote my thoughts.

Doubt told stories

where I never survived the ending.

Still, something stayed—

a pulse,

a whisper,

a reason to remain.

Hope wore my name

when I couldn’t say it myself.

It sat beside me

when courage left early.

It believed in my breath

before I believed in tomorrow.

I walked through shadows

with shaking faith,

holding onto nothing

but the feeling

that I was meant to last.

Even broken,

I was still becoming.

The dark did not defeat me—

it revealed me.

It taught me

that hope does not need light

to exist,

only a heart

willing to keep beating.

Now, when night returns,

I do not fear its depth.

I know somewhere inside it,

hope still wears my name—

waiting,

steady,

unafraid of the dark.