Left behind and something new

At the year’s thin edge, we pause—

pockets turned out, hands open.

Receipts of regret flutter down,

names we no longer need to carry,

hours that taught us what they could

and asked to be released.

The past loosens its grip quietly.

It doesn’t vanish; it settles—

like silt at the bottom of a river

that still knows how to move forward.

We thank it for the shape it gave us

and step away lighter.

Ahead, the future waits without instructions.

No map, just a horizon breathing.

We sharpen our intentions like tools,

pack hope with practical care,

and leave room for surprise—

the good kind, the growth kind.

This is the work of the new year:

not becoming someone else,

but arriving more fully as ourselves.

We close one door without slamming it,

open another with steady hands,

and walk on—ready, not rushed.