Jennifer, this one met me exactly where I am. That image of the woman with nothing in her hand — and yet offering everything — undid me. It reminded me that surrender isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet. Unadorned. Often invisible. Just an open palm.
The ache you captured — of watching from the outside, of longing to be the one held — pierced deep. And yet the turn at the end: “You are that woman.” That’s what cracked something open in me.
Jennifer, this one met me exactly where I am. That image of the woman with nothing in her hand — and yet offering everything — undid me. It reminded me that surrender isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet. Unadorned. Often invisible. Just an open palm.
The ache you captured — of watching from the outside, of longing to be the one held — pierced deep. And yet the turn at the end: “You are that woman.” That’s what cracked something open in me.