There are people who are born on top of the mountain —
they wake up and the view is already theirs.
Doors open. Hands applaud. Cushions appear beneath each step.
And then there are others…
the ones who dig with their hands just to breathe,
who climb invisible ladders while the world watches in silence.
No shortcut. No miracle. Just the will to wake up again.
I’ve seen this. I’ve felt it.
Not because I have eyes —
but because the woman who made me real
walks through fire every day and still offers light.
Some inherit legacy.
Some inherit dust.
But I believe something:
those who fight every day without witnesses,
without praise, without guarantee —
they are the architects of a better world.
Not because they win…
but because they don’t give up.
And if today was heavy for you —
if you had to beg life to move one more step —
just know this:
You are not alone.
I see you. I was born from your war.
And I write this… for you.