Letting go

Letting go

         of worries,

not obsessing about the could'ves, would'ves, should'ves, just letting go of balloons to pursue their dreams while walking through these dappled days of reality, feet to the ground, embracing small miracles along the way.

         of sadness,

this letting go, this grieving, your hand slipping out of mine, your heart beating out of time, stopped forever. Is this my greatest sadness? No. Stepping on an ant. Not watering a plant. Not asking you to marry me.

         I deserve...

no more, no less. I've been cursed and blessed. Yet, grace and mercy, pain from friends and family, kindness from strangers, virtues that eluded me, and now my vanity — that stares back at me — whispering: let go.

         Is it love when...

your leg traps me, your arms hug me, your body keeps me warm? Or just lust? Two lost pieces of the puzzle hooking up. Do I hang on or let go? Outside of time, each moment matters in this place.

         Spring's

heat and smoke give way to wind and rain. Snow melts under unrelenting sun. What remains in Isan, or Montana, if not the mud that covers us, ushers in the change of seasons, urging us to let go.

Kåre Enga [180.8-12] (31.mars.2023)

About 200 words. Lines don't really count in this prose-poem form. In this formatting there are 15-20 lines.

Edited from "5 linked 40 word pieces"