The Woman Who Dreamed in Full Color

She was a woman who believed in the world,
not because it had shown her its beauty,
but because she carried beauty within her,
like a lantern in a storm, steady and sure.
She dreamed of kindness—not the easy kind,
but the kind that roots itself in the marrow,
the kind that stays, even when it’s hard.
She loved fiercely, with a heart that refused to harden.
Her friends found solace in her laughter,
her family leaned on her like an old oak,
and even strangers felt seen in her presence.
She gave her time, her energy, her silence,
her forgiveness, her patience, her light.
She gave until her hands trembled,
until her voice grew soft,
until her reflection seemed to fade.
But the world, it seemed, was a one-way street.
Her love was met with half-hearted returns,
her kindness was taken, not as a gift,
but as something owed, something expected.
Friends drifted like leaves in the wind,
family took without asking how she was,
and companions left her with empty chairs
and echoes of promises they never meant to keep.
She stayed soft in a world that sharpened itself,
stayed open when others built walls.
But even the strongest hearts grow weary,
and hers was no exception.
The weight of unreturned love settled in her bones,
a quiet ache that never quite left.
She began to wonder if she was a fool,
if her dreams were too big, too bright,
if her light was a flame the world would always dim.
And now, she stands at the edge of herself,
torn between the dreamer and the realist.
She wants to let go, to stop the endless giving,
to build walls of her own and lock the gates.
But her heart, damn it, still beats in full color,
still whispers of hope, of love, of connection.
It’s hard to stop dreaming when it’s all you’ve ever known,
hard to stop loving when it’s your native tongue.
Yet, she’s tired.
Tired of being the one who holds it all together,
tired of being the one who forgives first,
tired of being the one who stays
while everyone else seems to leave.
She doesn’t know if she can hold on,
if she can keep her light from flickering out.
But here’s the truth she’s beginning to see:
Her worth isn’t tied to what she gives,
and her strength isn’t measured by how much she carries.
She is allowed to rest, to step back,
to demand the love she’s always given.
So here’s to the woman who dreamed in full color,
who loved too much, who gave too freely.
May she find the courage to love herself
as deeply as she’s loved the world.
May she learn that it’s okay to dim the light
if it means keeping it alive.
And may she one day find the hands
that will hold hers as tightly as she’s always held others.
For now, she breathes.
For now, she dreams.
For now, that is enough.