Writings

Strip everything else and this is what's left. The air you didn't ask for, arriving on schedule, asking nothing back.

What was given freely wasn't meant to be earned. The trying to deserve it is what kept you from receiving it.

The ones you'd say if you knew were never the ones you waited to be ready for. Readiness was the delay disguised as preparation.

Not yours. Not mine. One. The line between us was a sentence we agreed to keep speaking.

The morning you stopped waiting for it to mean something is the morning it began to. Ordinary was the disguise the sacred was wearing.

Not a posture. Not a practice. Just the absence of the thing you'd been doing without noticing.

Not made. Not summoned. Already here, the way the sky is already there above the weather.

Something in you the day cannot reach. Watch closely. It was never the part that was tired.