Still Here

Some people survive loudly. Others survive in ways no one ever sees.

Still Here is a raw collection of poetry about the versions of ourselves we lose, the people we love, the wounds we carry, and the strength it takes to keep becoming.

Across these pages, Annabelle Cruz traces a life from childhood fears and family memories to friendship, heartbreak, loneliness, addiction, military service, distance, healing, and learning how to become her own safe place.

These poems don't pretend that survival is beautiful.

Sometimes survival is getting out of bed.

Sometimes it's walking away from someone you still love.

Sometimes it's forgiving the person you used to be.

Sometimes it's sitting alone thousands of miles from home and realizing that the person who has carried you through every chapter has been you.

And sometimes, survival is simply being able to say:

I am still here.

Still Here is for the person who became strong because life gave them no other choice. For the one who makes everyone laugh and goes home to silence. For the one who has outgrown people they thought would stay forever. For anyone who has looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back.

It is about family. Friendship. Love. Loss. Home. Growing older. Serving far from everything familiar. Breaking. Healing. And discovering that becoming yourself sometimes requires grieving every version of you that came before.

This isn't a collection about having all the answers.

It's about surviving long enough to keep asking the questions.

It's about looking back at the frightened child, the angry teenager, the broken woman, the fighter, the dreamer, and every version in between and realizing they all did something extraordinary:

They stayed.

For anyone who has ever wondered whether they would make it through the darkest chapter of their story, these pages are a reminder:

Your story isn't over yet.

You are still here.