These poems were born in the quiet hours-between dishes and deadlines, between tears and tiny triumphs. They carry fragments of who I was, who I am, and who I'm still becoming. Writing this collection was not just about crafting verses. It was about confronting pain, honoring the healing process, and choosing-again and again-not to give up. Each piece was a step forward, even when it felt like standing still.
If you've read this far, thank you. I hope these words met you in a place of understanding, or helped carry you toward one. Healing isn't always loud. Sometimes, it's a whisper: You're still here. You're still standing... Keep going. With love and resilience, L. C. Salter
These poems were born in the quiet hours-between dishes and deadlines, between tears and tiny triumphs. They carry fragments of who I was, who I am, and who I'm still becoming. Writing this collection was not just about crafting verses. It was about confronting pain, honoring the healing process, and choosing-again and again-not to give up. Each piece was a step forward, even when it felt like standing still.
If you've read this far, thank you. I hope these words met you in a place of understanding, or helped carry you toward one. Healing isn't always loud. Sometimes, it's a whisper: You're still here. You're still standing... Keep going. With love and resilience, L. C. Salter