To believe, sometimes, is to move blindly through the dark—wrapped in uncertainty, wrapped in pain, wrapped in the weight of becoming. It’s not always light and clarity; sometimes belief begins where vision ends. It’s the choice to keep going when no one sees your face, your truth, or your struggle. The world may bind you in doubt, cover you in silence, or mistake your transformation for defeat—but belief is what stirs underneath. It’s the butterflies in the dark, the quiet proof that change is happening even when nothing makes sense yet. You don’t need to be understood to keep growing. You don’t need to be seen to become something extraordinary. Believe, not because it’s easy—but because there is something sacred in the becoming. You are not finished. You are unfolding.
To believe, sometimes, is to move blindly through the dark—wrapped in uncertainty, wrapped in pain, wrapped in the weight of becoming. It’s not always light and clarity; sometimes belief begins where vision ends. It’s the choice to keep going when no one sees your face, your truth, or your struggle. The world may bind you in doubt, cover you in silence, or mistake your transformation for defeat—but belief is what stirs underneath. It’s the butterflies in the dark, the quiet proof that change is happening even when nothing makes sense yet. You don’t need to be understood to keep growing. You don’t need to be seen to become something extraordinary. Believe, not because it’s easy—but because there is something sacred in the becoming. You are not finished. You are unfolding.
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