there are days
I can feel the universe
moving through me
like an ocean
trying to remember
what it was
before it became water

and I wonder
how many versions of myself
I have already buried
just to become
the person standing here
how many dreams
did I quietly fold away
because life asked me
to be practical
how many pieces of my heart
have I left inside people
who no longer know
the sound of my name

we spend our lives
collecting things
we cannot keep

faces
places
hands we once held
as though letting go
was impossible
then one ordinary day
we realize
we have become a museum
of everything that touched us

there are rooms inside me
I rarely enter
old laughter still lives there
so do apologies
I never received
goodbyes I never understood
and a younger version of myself
still waiting
for certain doors to open

sometimes
I want to find her
sit beside her
tell her
not everything she loses
will be a tragedy
some things must leave
so she can finally hear
her own footsteps

and maybe that is what living is
becoming
and unbecoming
holding
and releasing
loving something
even while knowing
you were never promised
forever

still
I want to leave this life
having felt everything
I want my heart
worn thin from loving
I want my hands empty
because I gave
what I could

and when the last page
finally turns
I hope there is nothing left
inside of me
begging to be lived