take this moment.
take this moment. learn its shape, its smell, the way it speaks to those precious, vibrating bones.
take this moment. feel its pulse, its weight, how it fits into this gloriously imperfect life.
take this moment. hold it up—to the heavens who know you are strong enough, to the skies who understand you are brave enough, to the winds who sense you are capable enough—and set it free.
because the moments that come back to hurt you are the same moments we haven’t released—the ones we’ve pushed down, locked up, covered, buried, and ignored.
the ones we’re scared of, the ones who speak to a story we’re too ashamed to own.
so we pretend we’re lucky. we pretend they’ll stay there, in the makeshift east wing of our hearts. “oh no,” you’ll tell guests, “we don’t go to that part of the house. it’s being… renovated.” but this is life—real life—where buried things will start to rot. where hidden things will start to stir. where neglected moments will rage at the injustice of it all.
so take slow, deliberate steps to that forbidden place in your heart. retrieve those moments and take them for everything they’re worth.
feel the sharp edges, smell the putrid breath. feel the nausea rise to liquify your throat. stare those moments in their disgusting, cruel faces.
and when your insides are on fire, when your knees have given in, when your face is blotchy and tear stained from the horror of it all, whisper “thank you” to the heavens, to the skies, to the winds for believing you had it in you all along.
“goodbye” you’ll say to those swallowed moments, “today, I set you free.”
—this post was grown on the gram.