“What cannot move begins to ache.”

Water never argues with gravity.
It doesn’t debate the terrain.
It doesn’t ask whether it’s allowed to pass.

It simply moves.

When life becomes heavy, it’s often because too much has been held without motion.
Feelings stored instead of felt.
Tears swallowed instead of released.
Questions carried instead of rinsed through the body.

We call this strength.
But the body calls it weight.

Rain teaches a quieter truth:
nothing clears by staying contained.
Nothing renews by being withheld.

Even hope, when held too tightly, can become still water,
reflective, yes,
but stagnant.

Movement doesn’t mean answers.
It doesn’t mean decisions or direction.
Sometimes it’s as simple as letting emotion pass
without naming it, fixing it, or assigning it meaning.

A tear.
A long drink of water.
A deep breath that finally reaches the belly.
A moment where you don’t brace yourself against what you’re feeling.

This is how grounding begins,
not by standing firm,
but by letting what’s inside finally flow.

You don’t have to know where it’s going.
Water never does.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
Tomorrow, we’ll listen to what tears carry, and what they leave behind.