My Friend the No

When no no longer tastes like loss,
Or leaves you bowed beneath the cross,
When guilt recedes without a trace,
And quiet wraps you into grace. 

That’s healing. Not the kind that shouts,
But one that blooms from burned out doubts,
When breath returns in steady streams,
And space no longer wrecks your seams.

When silence isn’t sharp or thin,
But sinks like light beneath the skin,
And solitude no longer stings,
But teaches you the weight of wings. 

You’ll know you’ve come to stand alone,
Not armored, but returned to bone,
A self that doesn’t beg or bend,
But draws a line, and calls it friend.
 
Cathrine Hottran 2025