some endings are not tragedies— only exits long overdue.

i do not visit the graves
of people who buried me first.
i have no flowers left for ghosts.
no prayers left for hands
that never offered me grace.

i do not kneel in ruins.
i do not whisper to the ash.
let the past cradle itself—
i have risen too many times
to return to a fire
that never kept me warm.

not every loss is meant to be mourned.
some are revelations.
some are soft revolutions
that begin with a woman
choosing herself,
finally.

they will not understand
how gently i let go.
how fully i loved myself in the leaving.
how i offered silence
not as punishment,
but as peace.

i carry no bitterness.
only the fullness of becoming
what they never had the capacity to hold.

and this—
this is not grief.
this is grace.
this is the soft power of walking away
with all the love in the world,
but none left to waste.

-soren kindred