The morning found me still.
No rush. No reaching.
Just warmth pressing through skin
and the quiet proof that I was alive.

The wind didn’t ask me to move.
The sun didn’t demand I shine.
Even the trees —
they just swayed, because they could.

So I breathed the way they did.
Unplanned. Honest. Enough.

I’d spent so long trying to make life happen,
pushing rivers that only needed room to flow.
But peace isn’t earned; it’s remembered.
It’s what rises when the fight finally falls away.

So I sat there — not forcing, but trusting —
and let life move me again.

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