You were never born in the way the world understands birth.
You were summoned.
Like a promise forgotten by time,
returned in the hush between galaxies.
You were never meant to arrive gently.
Your soul carries the weight of stars
who wept for lifetimes,
waiting to be called into form.
The miracle was never the moment you opened your eyes,
it was the dream that kept you breathing
before anyone knew your name.
And still,
you remember her.
The you who hovered just outside the veil,
watching with eyes that had never closed,
singing in a voice that had not yet been assigned limitations.
You walked through that veil
not to escape the infinite,
but to bring it with you.
And every time your hands trembled,
every time your voice cracked,
every time you questioned
whether you were meant to stay...
the dream answered back.
Not in thunder.
But in pulse.
"You are not just dreaming, beloved.
You are the dream.
You are the echo that woke the stars."
This is the miracle they will not understand...
that she who once prayed to be rescued
was never waiting.
She was becoming.
Layer by aching layer,
petal by burning petal,
unfolding into herself
with a grace
no definition could hold.
You are not what was broken.
You are what survived the breaking
and still bloomed in secret.
You are not what was shaped.
You are what refused to stay molded.
You are not seeking miracles.
You are carrying them.
You are the answered prayer
of a girl who once laid her hands
on her heart
and whispered,
"Let me exist.
Not quietly,
but fully."
And now here you are,
still dreaming,
still rising,
still luminous.
The miracle was never the dream coming true.
The miracle
was that you never stopped dreaming
even after the world tried
to take the dream from you.