Waving Back

The first official week

of the new year

stands tall

in front of me—

clean,

unbothered,

full of breath.

I’m answering

the quiet calls now.

The soft ones

that don’t rush me.

The ones that say:

Come as you are.

Not as you were forced to be.

Yes,

I still carry grief—

old chapters

one cannot edit,

pages

already turned.

But grief

no longer owns the room.

It sits beside me,

respectful,

while curiosity

stretches its legs

and smiles

at what’s ahead.

This curiosity

is new—

tender,

a little shy.

But it’s here.

And that

feels like progress.

I sip my water

like a ritual.

Hydrate my hope.

Slow my breathing.

Remind my body:

We are safe enough

to dream again.

I whisper prayers

between inhales—

not begging,

just trusting.

Just believing

God is gentle.

That goodness

knows my name.

That this year

is listening.

The past

can rest.

The future

is waving.

And I—

I’m finally

waving back.

Sparkles.