Not every knock needs a door. Not every thought needs a home. Old thought came back wearing an old face. Same voice. Same wound. Same invitation to lose another night. I almost let it in. Almost pulled out a chair, poured it something strong, asked where it had been. But I know that story. Same ending. Different hour. Let it pass. Some things get heavy because I hold them. Let it pass. No fight. No answer. No last word. The river doesn't argue with what it carries. Let it pass. Someone speaks sideways. Maybe they meant it. Maybe they didn't. Morning won't care. I used to collect small wounds like evidence. Build a courtroom behind my eyes. Judge. Jury. Witness. All over a sentence that probably died the moment it was spoken. Now I leave some things where they fall. Let it pass. Some things get heavy because I hold them. Let it pass. No fight. No answer. No last word. The river doesn't argue with what it carries. Let it pass. Maybe peace isn't found. Maybe it was already here before I started touching everything. Dragging yesterday through a quiet room. Asking tomorrow to testify. So tonight the clock can keep its secrets. The dark can stay dark. My breath can be enough. No revelation. No grand repair. Just one moment I didn't turn into a war. The thought. The fear. The name. The memory. Let it pass. If it's real, it'll survive the silence. If it isn't why chase the imbalance? Let it pass.
