Small Wins

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I count my wealth in slow-earned days,

in euros stacked from tired praise.

€350 — not much, they’d say,

but to me, it’s brick upon brick in the endless clay.

I could spiral,

as I usually do,

measuring worth by what I lack

instead of what I push through.

Almost 37, and just begun,

a month or so of saving — five by five —

small sips from a leaking cup,

still somehow, I survive.

Not touching it.

Not like before.

This time, I guard it — let it grow,

let it sit and slowly store.

Even holidays have their jar,

a whisper of rest that’s not too far.

another €65 sealed away,

another small win today.

No parade.

No gold confetti.

Just coffee, tired limbs,

and a quiet, steady “I’m ready.”

Because one day,

maybe not now,

these crumbs will line the sacred path

I walk with open heart and brow.

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