23

What if I am the tide? she thinks.

Within the space of a breath, her body settles with the answer. Her right shoulder, so overworked and so tired from having carried so much, drops in relief for the first time in, well, perhaps ever. 

Here, she is finally safe and one can feel it in her exhale. 

Here, she does not need to brace or dread or overthink. 

Here, there is nothing to fear. 

Here, she is loved as a verb, every moment of every day. 

And it is here where she can finally understand the truth. Like the tide, she must rise and fall and rise again, over and over, in surrender to the pull of life, guiding her in perpetual rhythm. 

There is nothing more to hold onto. She must allow the fall before the rise.

- Still, Between