What Remains

Sometimes

the wound is simply a wound —

not a chrysalis,

not a doorway,

not a lesson,

not a future strength

waiting to be revealed 

Sometimes it is only

the body remembering

that it is fragile,

that it can be undone

without warning 

We speak so often

of resilience

as if it were a guarantee,

as if every breaking

must eventually yield

a better version of ourselves 

But some breaks

do not rebuild 

Some fractures

remain fractures 

Some losses

do not return as wisdom 

And still —

we keep living 

Not because pain

has shaped us 

into something finer 

but because life

does not pause

to ask whether we are ready

to continue 

Healing, when it comes 

is not a reward

for endurance 

It is simply

the slow reorganization

of what remains 

A recalibration 

A quieter balance 

A way of carrying

what cannot be fixed 

And maybe that, too,

is a kind of strength —

not the triumphant kind

we like to celebrate,

but the subtle kind

that lets us breathe

in spite of everything 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

September 17, 2026