When Khaled Hosseini wrote “a man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you.” I had to stop, put the book down and breathe because never had a sentence knocked the breath out of me like that did.
his voice, a low tide of sound, rolling over the hills
of my mind, threading through
the woods where
my worries hide
I felt it there,
steady, a warmth
that knew
where to rest
nice, I thought, the kind of nice that stays a while
What a privilege to be tired from work you once begged the universe for. what a privilege to feel overwhelmed by growth you used to dream about. what a privilege to be challenged by a life you created on purpose. What a privilege to outgrow things you used to settle for.