the wind touches my hand,
the leaf drifts away,
and i feel no ownership,
only witness.
moments arrive like waves,
crashing, receding,
and i learn to float between them
without clutching the water.
the faces i meet,
the objects i hold,
the laughter and the sorrow,
all are passing,
all are teachers in disguise.
to grasp is to suffer,
to release is to understand
that life is an endless gallery
and i am only here to observe.
i write for those who
see life as a river
and themselves as the shore.
nothing stays, nothing binds,
the sun will set, the tide unwinds,
all that you touch will drift away,
each moment here, then gone to gray.
the laughter fades, the tears will dry,
the world moves on beneath the sky,
to own is illusion, to hold is pain,
detachment teaches what will remain.
experience flows, a constant stream,
like wandering through a fleeting dream,
we borrow time, we borrow air,
we touch the world, yet nothing we wear.
so let go, let life unfold,
its stories never truly told,
the heart that sees without the bind
finds freedom in the passing kind.
i write for those who
live lightly,
and feel deeply.
Detachment is not the absence of care, it’s the refusal to be enslaved by it. To master it is to watch the world burn and feel the heat without screaming for water.
Ownership is the lie that binds the living. You build, you cling, you name things “mine,” and in doing so, you let the world own you. Every attachment is a chain disguised as comfort. You call it love, ambition, legacy, but it’s all the same tether to impermanence.
When you release the need to possess, you finally begin to perceive. Life ceases to be a prison of keeping and becomes a theater of witnessing. You see beauty without needing to hold it, people without needing to fix them, and endings without needing to resist them.
Nothing belongs to you, not even your name, not even your breath. And in that truth lies the only kind of freedom that death cannot steal.
-The Weaver of Woe
What you let go of stops haunting you. What you cling to becomes your ghost.
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