I used to schedule the stars.
Color-code the moon.
Tried to make destiny fit in my planner,
due by next Tuesday at noon.
I bought every candle, wrote all the lists,
whispered affirmations with a clenched fist.
Prayed for peace while planning the war—
measuring the now, while craving more.
But then the ocean rolled her eyes.
She laughed in full tides.
Said, “Sweetheart, sit down. Let me teach you how the Divine rides.”
She doesn’t rush.
She doesn’t beg.
She doesn’t shrink to fit into anyone’s peg.
She flows.
She crashes.
She rests.
And she knows.
Because being in the moment is sacred.
It’s bold.
It says, “I trust myself more than the lies I’ve been sold.”
So now I drink tea and wait.
Wear silk and let it swish.
I flirt with time, wink at fate,
and toss old timelines in the dish.
I don’t chase what’s running.
I don’t beg the tide to stay.
I let the waves do what they do—
take me somewhere anyway.
So here’s to the soft power in not forcing a thing.
To laughing at your shadow.
To letting your hips swing.
To walking like you own the moment—
because, let’s be honest… you do.
You’re the ocean, my love.
Not the anchor. Not the net.
You are the wave.
And you haven’t even crashed yet—
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