You dream of a wall, but you are the wind against it. You dream of a sword, but you are the unbreaking stone. This is the lie of invincible — that to be unmoved is to be alive.
What if strength is the widow who still sets two plates at dinner? What if power is the child who, after the fall, runs toward the thing that hurt them—not to fight, but to understand? Invincible
But I have seen the oak after the storm: not standing because it refused to bend, but rooted because it learned to sway. You dream of a wall, but you are the wind against it