Love or Let go

She loved a vine beyond her gate,

Wild-grown where woods and silence wait.

She sang it sun, and gave it rain—

It bloomed with beauty, bloomed with pain.

Its thorns were sharp; her fingers red,

Yet still she watered, still she bled.

The neighbors warned, “It will consume.”

She whispered, “No, it only needs room.”

One summer night, it climbed too far,

Cracked her walls and scarred her stars.

She begged. It grew. She begged again.

Then cut it back—to root, to end.

Winter sighed. The garden grieved.

Her hands, at last, were free to breathe.

And spring arrived with gentler grace—

One thornless rose in the vine’s old place.

Some love arrives wild. If it cannot be tended without bleeding, let it go—and make room for what blooms without wounding.#embracevulnerability