Wake when the world still whispers gray,
when the sky can’t decide on staying dark or daring blue.
Open your hands. Feel how heavy the small things are—
keys, mugs, promises, your own pulse.
Everything wants to be carried,
even you.
Remember: no one told the seed how to break open—
it just did, because it had to.
Keep breathing. That’s the first and only rule.
You will not always be brave.
You will spill the light you’ve been saving.
You will mistake a pause for an ending.
Still, keep walking. The ground remembers every footstep
and forgives. Listen—somewhere, a sparrow
is making a whole morning from dust and leftover rain.
You are allowed to begin again,
as many times as it takes.
Keep breathing. That’s the first and only rule.
By now the trees have dressed themselves again—
green after months of gray surrender.
They don’t ask if they deserve it.
They just turn toward sun, reckless with belief.
So when the day breaks open like mercy,
step into it.
Call this moment enough,
and mean it.
Keep breathing. That’s the first and only rule.
Therapy Bits 
Talk to me! I love comments!