The Art of Letting Go

I held too long to what once was,

A fading light, a cloud because
I feared the dark, the silent space,
The echo where I knew your face.

But time, that patient sculptor’s hand,
Carved truth from dreams I couldn’t stand.
It taught me winds are meant to blow,
And even roots must sometimes go.

The tide returns, then draws away,
And night must turn to meet the day.
So I release, with open palms,
The storm, the ache, the fleeting calms.

You were a chapter, not the end,
A passing fire, a shadowed bend.
And in the void you leave behind,
I find more room for peace to find.

So here I stand, and here I breathe,
Not in regret, but what it leaves:
A quiet strength, a soul set free—
Letting go, I come back to me.