Tidal (Or The Truest Form Of Self)





Scared is a word I could describe this as.

But perhaps, 

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.


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