Poem – What we carry
What we carry
Not everything we carry
is heavy.
Some things—
a glance,
a birdsong,
the way a child once reached for your hand without looking—
tuck themselves quietly into the folds of the heart,
and stay.
You could walk for years and forget their names,
but not their shape.
Not the warmth they made.
These moments do not shout.
They do not knock.
They do not insist on being healed or solved or even remembered properly.
But they hum.
Softly.
Like roots singing in the dark.
A bowl of oranges on a sunlit table.
The breathless stillness just after snowfall.
The exact moment you knew you would say yes.
They are all still here—
not gone,
not lost,
not diminished by time—
but gathered.
The way the sea gathers light.
The way the earth gathers rain.
The way your own chest gathers breath when something finally makes sense.
So walk gently.
You are not alone.
You are accompanied by all the quiet things,
that ever made you feel most alive.
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