There comes a moment
when the mind,
body,
soul,
and spirit
come into agreement.
No argument.
No confusion.
No revisiting
What has already
revealed itself.
Just the quiet cogency
of knowing:
this is where
I choose peace.
Not from bitterness.
Not from rancor.
Not from defeat.
From self-respect.
I wanted tenderness
to become real.
I wanted the possibility
to grow
with vitality,
integrity,
and devotion.
Still,
I know this now:
My heart
is not a layaway plan.
You do not place love
on hold
while deciding
whether devotion
fits your timing.
You do not keep
a woman’s spirit
waiting inside
your indecision,
as if tenderness
were something
to return to
when convenient.
No, beloved.
My love, it
is not a shelf.
My bodyIt
is not a maybe.
My soul, it
is not a waiting room.
My spirit
does not belong
to hesitation.
I have been quiet
long enough
to hear the truth
inside my own chest.
The body knows
when it is tired
of leaning toward absence.
The heart knows
when ambiguity
has asked too much.
The soul knows
when a door
has become antiquated,
standing there
out of habit,
not hope.
And the spirit,
when restored,
does not shout.
It rises.
So I release this
with discernment.
I release the fallacies
I once dressed
In patience.
I release the despondent ache
of waiting
for what could not
Choose me clearly.
I release the old story
That love must be earned
through endurance.
And I wish you well.
Truly.
Because what is meant for me
will not need confusion
to keep it alive.
It will arrive
with clarity,
care,
and clean intention.
So let this be gentle.
Let this be final.
Let this be the place
where I stop asking
my heart
to explain its worth.
I choose peace.
I choose restoration.
I choose the woman
who no longer mistakes
longing
for alignment.
And as I close the door,
I do it softly,
not because it did not matter,
but because I finally do.
I matter.
My joy matters.
My future matters.
And the love coming toward me
will not need you.
It will know—
© 2026 Sherley Delia. All rights reserved.
