Scared is a word I could describe this as.
It's the gentle shedding.
Of old skin, or weathered leaves.
Both things changing.
Both eventually absorbed into the dirt.
Scared for sure, but there is also,
A subtle longing.
In hope. In freedom. A cocoon blooming.
A wound healing.
A heart breaking.
A wave crashing.
But the tide always comes back to the insatiable sea.
Calm, it tells me:
"You must live!"
I'll do my best, I say.
And it goes on.