It was evening,

standing over the stove,

like she did

day after day.

She felt it first as a crack—

a hairline fracture,

then something spreading

beneath the surface.

Her life had grown too small,

her light too big.

At first she thought

it was a broken heart.

Then she called it grief—

mourning a life

she believed she had lost.

But she realized the cracks

were never broken pieces.

They were openings.

Fault lines.

Her light,

finding its way back out.