The relief of realizing you can never know what must be said, and that all you have to do is speak, so that what must be said will have a way of sneaking out,

the relief of recognizing, for once, that there’s no rush to become who you are, because you already are, so just feel it and know it, exactly this,

the relief of staying with the question, “What is being asked of me here?” instead of endlessly wondering, “What is mine?”

the relief of asking for help, even if it doesn’t come,

the relief of weeping with your mother over her death before she dies,

the relief of knowing you’ll weep for your father, too, so best learn how now,

the relief of meeting your own death as the beloved one you’ve been looking for, the one who will hold you at the very end, the one who is holding you now,

the relief, the relief, the great relief of grief,

and of living it, for a moment, because you just couldn’t say no anymore.

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