The quiet came softly,
not as absence,
but as restoration.
It entered the room
like clean water,
like morning light
touching the windowsill
without asking to be seen.
I did not rush it.
I let it sit beside me
with its gentle hands,
reminding my body
That rest is not surrender,
and stillness it
is not stagnation.
There is a sacred rejuvenation,
a quiet invigoration,
that happens
when the spiritIt
is no longer performing survival.
The breath deepens.
The shoulders loosen.
The heart remembers
It was never created
to carry everything.
So I cleanse the old heaviness
from the corners
of my name.
I open the windows.
I let the air enter.
I let peace become
the language of the room.
No noise.
No pleading.
No unnecessary explanation.
Just me,
returning to myself
with grace.
The quiet knows
where I have been.
It does not interrogate
my healing.
It simply gathers
What was scattered,
softens what was tense,
and places my spirit
back into my hands.
And I rise,
not loudly,
But clearly.
Restored.
Rejuvenated.
Invigorated.
Luminous.
A woman made whole
by the sacred decision
to be still
long enough
to hear herself
breathe again—
© 2026 Sherley Delia. All rights reserved.
Healing Majestically 