This last cycle taught me the difference between wanting anything
and wanting what is truly meant for me.
Quality over quantity.
Depth over distraction.
No more reaching just to feel alive,
or staying just to avoid the ache of leaving.
Solitude became necessary
the only doorway back into the real me,
the depths most people are terrified to meet.
In the quiet, I heard my own voice again:
the outsider, the freethinker,
the woman who never needed permission to know her truth.
My heart speaks for me now.
My mind and spirit too.
I’m finally listening.
Walking away from distraction returned everything I had leaked:
my attention, my sovereignty,
my erotic self-trust,
my freedom,
my wholeness.
My energy feels different
strong, rooted, unmistakable.
I feel known, even if not fully seen.
I trust myself deeply.
I know who and what I am.
A new version of me is resurfacing
the elder in my spirit,
the one who has died and resurrected enough times
to know her own magic.
The woman who chooses herself first,
without guilt, without trembling.
Silence has been my healer.
The silence between thoughts,
the silence in my home,
the silence inside my body,
the silence in the craters of my heart as they close.
Silence protects.
Silence reorganizes.
Silence brings me back to life.
And now, I’m guarding my heart differently.
Every lover has taught me how to hold her better
her eagerness, her warmth, her fragility.
I’m protecting her from hardening too quickly,
from reopening old wounds just to see if the sun still rises.
I refuse to go cold.
I refuse to let fear kill my softness.
I refuse to let the past shrink my ability to be touched,
kissed, held, adored, or loved.
Devoted to myself and love.
Fully.
Holy.
Freegrandmaa 