Letting Go
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The thing I held the longest
was the thing that cost me most to keep—
the grudge, the grief, the old resentment
that I fed through every sleepless sleep.
When I finally opened my hand and let it go
the hand felt strange at first without its weight,
the lightness almost frightening—
the unfamiliar state of not-holding being great.
Peace did not arrive with trumpets.
It arrived the way the morning does—
gradually, and without announcement,
the quiet after all the heavy was.
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The thing I held the longest
was the thing that cost me most to keep—
the grudge, the grief, the old resentment
that I fed through every sleepless sleep.
When I finally opened my hand and let it go
the hand felt strange at first without its weight,
the lightness almost frightening—
the unfamiliar state of not-holding being great.
Peace did not arrive with trumpets.
It arrived the way the morning does—
gradually, and without announcement,
the quiet after all the heavy was.
