Rise

I am water
pretending to be solid,
a frozen river
still dreaming of its flow.

I keep trying to pour
from a vessel
I keep forgetting to fill.

Is love meant to feel this heavy?
This endless balancing act
between breaking
and becoming?

Sometimes I think
if I stand still long enough,
the noise might settle,
dust after the storm.
But rather -

the dust becomes
the air I breathe.

I breathe like a shore breaks,
slow, uneven,
each exhale pulling something loose
I never meant to lose.

Inside,
a tide rises.
I can feel it
pressing at the edges of my ribs,
searching for the crack
where surrender leaks through.

And when I rise,
it is not from strength,
but from softness -
the kind that bends,
and keeps moving.

Even stillness feels loud.
Even light feels heavy.

So I stand in the stillness,
not empty -
just open.

Letting what remains
be enough.