I was never afraid of being forgotten I was afraid of being remembered incorrectly So I stopped explaining I let silence correct the typos . I let time misunderstand me . The truth The real truth doesn’t rush to be aknowledged . It waits patiently . It watches who distorts it who abandons it who returns to it when everything else fails . I have seen versions of myself exist in other people’s stories that I never lived to tell I did not rush to edit a word What is real does not compete with what is convenient. So I became still Not weak but permanent Not loud but undeniable in my stance the same silence they mistook for absence . echoes louder than a memory of me I did not write to be understood I wrote so that one day when truth becomes undeniable my words would already be there

