After the Release

It’s quieter now.

Not empty —

just soft,

the way the chest feels

when you place a hand there

and realise nothing is asking anymore.

Writing moved something.

Not dramatically.

Just enough

to make space.

It feels like finishing a cycle

I didn’t know was still open.

Like setting something down

with care,

instead of relief.

There is tiredness in my body.

The honest kind.

The kind that comes

after staying.

Creation costs energy

because it asks you

to remain present

until the feeling has said

everything it came to say.

I don’t feel triumphant.

I feel close —

to myself,

to the quiet.

Like the truth passed through me

and I didn’t chase it.

I just let it go,

slowly,

with my hand still on my chest.