I let go of everything when I sleep. And then, in the morning, I see what remains.
What remains is...everything. Everything that is good. I want to do so much. I want to be so much. It pains me to be less. So, in lieu of having someone to give everything to, I write. It is not a substitute, but an avenue for me to be everything I can be. My heart, my soul, my spirit contain so much. I will allow them to be as they wish. Out in the world. To find and to give nourishment. I will not limit them, shackle them.
Even as I let them go.