She Rose

She did not scream her story.
She wrote it—word by trembling word—
on the cracked walls of forgetting.

In the hush between heartbeats,
she lit the page with her own flame,
and pressed it gently
where the world once split her open.

“She rose,” it whispered—
not in defiance,
but in return.
To herself.
To the fire.
To the truth only silence can hold.