Sable’s Shore
You can leave a burning building. You can outrun a storm. You can close a door so hard the frame shakes and call it freedom. Leaving is loud. Leaving looks like courage from the outside. Staying is quieter, and sometimes it is harder.
Some mornings the bravest thing is not leaving.
Not the dramatic kind of staying. Not the speech. Just the ordinary decision to keep the same mug, the same chair, the same person across the table while the coffee cools. To let the day be small and still choose it.
I used to think courage looked like escape. A new city. A closed door. A version of myself that didn’t flinch. Lately it looks quieter. It looks like clearing a shelf for someone else’s things. It looks like saying the true sentence out loud and not editing it smaller before it lands. It looks like waking up and realizing the fear of being left is still there, but it no longer gets to drive.
What stays is not always what is easy. Sometimes it is what is honest. The body that wants. The voice that shakes. The hand that reaches anyway. The life that is allowed to be ordinary and still belong to you.
Salt in the air. Coffee in the hand. And the choice, again, to remain.
— Sable
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