Already written

We do not write the day.
We wake inside it,
light already leaning through the blinds,
the hour moving without us.

We step forward anyway,
lifting the cup,
answering the knock,
placing our hands where they are needed
before we feel ready.

Life and death do not wait for our permission.
They move on their own tracks,
older than names,
wider than the reach of our explanations.

What belongs to us is how we stand when the news arrives.
How our weight settles through the soles of our feet.
How we stay upright when the floor tilts
and the future narrows
to the size of a breath.

What has been done was done with care,
not perfectly,
but with attention,
with listening,
with the full measure of what could be given at the time.

Nothing essential was held back.

There is still a place to sit.
Still a hand to take,
warm, human,
steadying the small tremor that runs through the body before it calms.

I am here with you,
inside what was never ours to decide.

We can stand tall.
Walk forward.
Leave the world altered by how we remained.