After a while… the need to be heard at full volume begins to dissolve. The rooftops grow silent. The flames you once fed with trembling hands no longer feel like power— only exhaustion. What you burned never built a home. And somewhere along the way, you realize— not every echo returns, not every seed takes root, not every mountain was yours to climb. The grace you poured out like water in a desert, the love you offered with open, unguarded hands— it did not come back the way you imagined. And still… you are here. So instead of fighting what refuses to bend, you loosen your grip. Not in defeat— but in awakening. You release the need to be answered, to be chosen, to be understood by those who never learned your language. Your hands, once reaching outward, begin to rise— not in desperation, but in devotion. Upward. Open. Steady. God… I see You now in the quiet I once avoided. I hear You not in the thunder— but in the space where my striving used to live. And I am ready. Something within ...
Today, I sat with a subtle restlessness and quiet nudge that refuses to let me settle where I’ve outgrown. I know this feeling. It’s the same pull that meets me at the edge right before everything changes. And I’ve never been afraid of the edge— I know how to measure the fall, how the wind shifts before I leap. Calculated risks have always recognized me. But lately… I’ve been still. Not the sacred kind of stillness— not the resting, restoring pause— but the kind that lingers too long, where hesitation disguises itself as wisdom and time slips quietly through my hands. I’ve stayed past the moment of release. And I’ve learned— disrespect is a door slammed shut from the inside. No apology, no backtracking, no carefully chosen words can rebuild an entrance where honor has been evicted. Some endings don’t negotiate. And me? My closure has never been loud— No announcements. No final speeches. No echoing exits designed to be heard. I disappear in lowercase. Because when I go silen...