There is something ancient in your bones—
Something that remembers the sky.
You were never meant to crawl, to shrink, to fold your wings in shame.
You were born with fire in your blood, wind beneath your ribs,
And the spirit of the eagle coursing through your soul.
You’ve been wounded, yes.
You’ve fallen, yes.
But look again—so has every eagle in the storm.
Wings grow stronger each time they rise again.
And you? You are not broken.
You are becoming.
Let the world doubt you.
Let the noise tell you who you should be.
You don’t answer to the ground.
You answer to the sky.
This is your time to remember.
To rise.
To fly.
Because healing isn’t about forgetting the pain—
It’s about carrying it as proof of flight.
And you, fierce soul,
You were always destined to soar.
