KYA
𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙, 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙. this nickname — only his, only for her. it almost makes her forget everything else. she grips his hand as tight as she can; she does not want to fall. but she still shakes — still trembles, head light. “ 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 … 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍, ” she replies. she can never joke or smile through everything as he can. she lifts her chin and sets her jaw, and that is how she survives. she holds her family close, and she does what she must. but she tries here — she wants to keep being happy. “ 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. ” if she says it enough, maybe she will make it true. she can’t think of anything else. “ 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. ” i’ll be alright if you take me home.
strength, a word that if it could conjure up an image would be her. strength is the way she carried supplies the first time he laid his eyes on her. strength is the way she was defiant in his requests when she knew they were not what she wanted. strength is the way she led by his side, equals. strength is the way she gave birth to two children, look at them now. leading the way for them to all return home. strength is the way she sacrificed her freedom, her life, without a second thought. strength is the way she is. she is strength. “ you could never be weak. ” he says without thinking before bowing his head to her ears so he could whisper. “ can i carry you ? ” at her nod, he sweeps her up, holding her close to her chest. “ you’re okay. we’ll be okay. ” and they will now.


















