An Exhale

I write it out. I exhale. I remember what it is to feel unburdened, for an evening, or a morning, long enough to sip my morning coffee, or for the week – it was a good week, I’ll reflect a little later, though either way it won’t matter; at some point all the weeks blend into one another; we forget the bad and the good, we only remember the wonderful and the terrible – or at least until I next forget my own power.

I empty out. I’m the tide sucked out by the moon, the water spinning down the drain, the hot tea swirling down my throat, the storm cloud releasing its burden.

I forgot how simple it was to be a human, I forgot how simple it was to just be.