The loudest whispers

The loudest whisper ever heard

was the one that was never spoken.

It was the one that showed up

when no one asked.

The one that kept commitments—

even when they were hard,

even when they were heavy.

It was the one that fought

when everything said to walk away.

The one that stayed—

through resilience,

through tears,

through wear and war.

It didn’t do surface-level work.

It didn’t patch wounds.

It went in.

It took out the infection,

stitched it closed,

and let it heal in time.

Because it knows—

some wounds don’t get quick fixes.

Some take months.

Some take years.

But it stays.

Because it knows they will heal.

And it dedicates itself to that healing.

Sometimes the loudest whisper

is the one that doesn’t ask for permission.

It sees what needs healing—

and it just does.

It sees where you need help—

and it just gives.

It doesn’t run.

It doesn’t flee.

It doesn’t avoid accountability.

It doesn’t sit in the shadows and wait.

It doesn’t only consume when it’s convenient.

It shows up.

Sometimes the quietest whisper

is not the one standing next to you—

but the one holding you in the fire.

Not the one in the spotlight—

but the one rooted underneath.

Unseen. Unmoving. Unshaken.

The loudest whisper is presence.

The kind that stays.

—In Love With Stephanie