And so I began

to listen

to a softer voice,

one that seemed

to begin

as a whisper.

And though there was

great shaking

as old ways

faded,

I held on to

the quiet place

in my own heart —

letting go

of all that left.

And though

there was pain

in going this way,

all I remember

is the tenderness

of the gentle whisper

from my own heart

reminding always,

no matter what,

I’m still here.

I found

life wasn’t quite as

black and white

as I had thought.

I found love wasn’t

about covering up

or fixing.

Somehow,

peace wasn’t

some distant goal

to be achieved,

and the most

loving thing

often meant allowing

myself and others

to be gently guided

through the tender places

that remained

unhealed.