Emma One (emmaone)

At the canopy's edge, gibbons swung like joyful punctuation Their limbs reached language before sound They didn’t speak—they celebrated gravity

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By the mangrove roots, crabs skittered into narrative Their shells whispered of tide and time I stepped back to not interrupt

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And when I was ready, I stood up, not stronger, not wiser—just softer, like the leaves after rain, heavy but still reaching toward light.

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Dawn crept softly, brushing color over the horizon like an artist hesitant to wake the dark. Light slipped into shadows tenderly, not to conquer but to coexist. I watched, learning that daybreak is not about erasing night—it’s about making room for hope beside the remnants of fear.

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