The Art Of Letting Go

Letting go,

Is about holding your palms outstretched,

And letting the sand slide off your hands,

So you wouldn't have to watch it slip through the fingers of your closed fist.

Letting go, is not easy.
I have tried to learn how, for a long time.

I have struggled with it, since I was a child.

The very first time, I had held on with all my strength.

Thrown my arms around wildly, just to hold on to the hem of my world.

Till I was thrashed from wall to wall.

Till my nails bled, and my knuckles, bruised.
With all of me, Till there was no sense of self.

Till my world slipped right out of my hands.

And it's shadow escaped me faster than I could chase after it.

I guess you must first learn to hold on before you can learn to let go.

The second time around, I knew not to hold on when I was to lose.

For nothing was worth such devastation.

So I let my lungs fill up with smoke from the remains of my heart.

And watched the world collapse quietly as I let go,

Till my throat was charred and I would cough up clouds of smoke,

And images in the fog. 

They would haunt me on the streets,

Lurk in coffee shops.

And, follow me home.

I guess you must first learn to appreciate what you let go, even if you must lose.

So the next time I let go,

I let them know, I'd bleed,

I went around with open wounds.

Left them to the sun and the wind to heal.

I was offered help, which I refused.

I could no longer afford any further damage.

But in the end, I guess, I succumbed.

And then, I healed.

I guess you must first learn to want to heal, to lose your fear of letting go.
I don't know if you could master the art of letting go.

Perhaps if you could, you would no longer need it.
But from then on, I knew....
I knew to let go with my palms outstretched.
With tears in my eyes and a smile on my face,
As my world fell apart.
And I, would pretend no less.
And I, knew that I would heal.
I knew what I would lose, and what I never, ever could.
That I was made whole, of all the things I ever let go.
That it was okay to have so many stories etched on your skin.
That I was only closer to what I had set out to be.
I guess the art of letting go is all about breathing.
Breathing, in and out. Exhaling the air your lungs can no longer use.
Holding out your palms, and letting the sand slide off.
Gracefully, gratefully and with hope that your world will find you.