You began with cold rain,
clouds breaking in slow arcs,
to promise something new
emerging from the brightness.
I practiced holding peace,
cupped in patient palms,
gathered strength
from clear blue afternoons,
found roots in days
that tried to break me.
Goodbye, 2025.
I step beyond your threshold now,
carrying echoes
that shape the path I follow.
In your waning moments,
I smooth your crumpled edges,
and press you gently
between the pages
of the book
of who I'm becoming.
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