The Woman
She is the storm and the stillness,the quiet before and the wreckage after.Soft hands that have held the world together,fingers calloused from carrying its weight.
She speaks in lullabies and war cries,her voice a thread that mends and unravels.A wildfire in her veins,a river carved through time.
She has been loved, she has been left,she has broken and built herself anew.Not once, not twice—but every time the world forgot her name.
She is not waiting to be saved.She is the hero, the villain, the legend—the woman who rises, again and again.