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In the silence of rooms where dreams once bloomed,
She sits with her thoughts, in quiet exhumed.
No job to define her, no path yet drawn,
Just echoes of plans that faded with dawn.

Her heart wears bruises, hidden but deep,
From a love that left her with nights of no sleep.
Yet voices around her grow louder each day,
"Marry," they say—"it’s the only way."

But how do you marry with pieces so torn?
When the soul feels weary, the spirit worn?
She’s not a vessel to trade or give,
But a woman who aches, who still must live.

They don't see the war between fear and hope,
Or how she clutches her strength just to cope.
She smiles for them—just lips, not eyes,
While inside her courage quietly cries.

"Let me heal," she pleads in words unsaid,
"Let me breathe, though my wings feel dead.
I need no savior, no wedding veil,
Only time to rise from where I fell."

For love isn't safe when your heart's not whole,
And marriage won't rescue a drowning soul.
She seeks no prince, no perfect vow,
Just peace within her—someday, somehow.

So let her be—not broken, but brave,
Fighting her way through the darkest wave.
A woman becoming, in her own right,
Holding the dawn through a starless night.