The river does not carry stones uphill.
It sets them down, one by one,
and this is how it reaches the sea.
You were not born holding anything.
Look at your hands now…
full of keys to rooms you never enter,
heavy with things that once meant something
to someone you no longer are.
The bird knows when to leave the nest.
Not because the nest is bad,
but because the sky is calling
and wings cannot answer
while gripping limbs.
Friend, listen to me,
…do not wait
until your hands are opened for you.
Set down the cup while you can still taste
the sweetness of choosing.
A lighter boat
rides higher on the water.
A smaller house
holds more of the morning light,
and the breeze visits deeper when windows can breathe.
What you release
does not disappear.
It returns to the world,
which was only ever lending it,
and the world says: well done,
you have learned the oldest prayer,
which is letting go
before the letting go
is done for you.