The ropes fell silent,
slipping like breath from an open palm.
Weight dropped—
dead leaves whirling in an unseen hand,
a whisper of what once held.

Not ungrateful,
but the air is clearer now,
the ground firm beneath unburdened feet.

You must trust—
let the tide take you,
let the light land where it will.

Heal not by holding,
but by opening—
wide as the sky,
soft as dusk settling on quiet bones.

Abandoned words live still,
tangled in the wind’s own song.
The everyday hero does not cling,
but walks forward—unbound.