Holding


Some things in life don't leave when the
moment passes
They settle into us - quietly, slowly -- like
color soaking into paper.


We hold memories we don't visit,
feelings we never named,
versions of ourselves that never fully
disappeared.


Not everything we carry is heavy.
Some of it is warmth.
Some of it is love that changed shape
Some of it is simply proof that we were
nere, that we felt, that something mattered


Holding is not about clinging.
It's about what remains after time has done
its work -
what softens, what stays, what becomes
part of our landscape


This piece is about that quiet accumulation.
The gentle layering of experience
The way life leaves traces, and how we
become the place where they rest.