Book of Boris — Chapter: White-Knuckle Quiet
Verse I
I didn’t cry. Not because I couldn’t — but because tears don’t move walls.
So I tightened my grip until the shaking stopped and the path stayed straight.
Verse II
No speeches. No rescue arc. Just days stacked on days like checks folded into silence.
Pain was present. Complaints were optional. I chose forward.
Verse III
They’ll ask how I did it, like there was a trick, a shortcut, a cleaner version of the story.
I’ll tell them the truth — I did it without tears, but white-knuckling through my problems, until the door finally opened.
Verse IV
And when I left, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry.
It was clean. It was earned. It was overdue.