This morning, anger returned.
Not the old storm that used to burn through my chest, but a quieter version — controlled, almost disappointed.
An ex from long ago came to visit. There are no remaining feelings, no hidden stories — just a thread of shared history that occasionally crosses paths.
But last night, he drank too much, fell into the same familiar patterns of carelessness, and I felt that inner flare rise — a mix of irritation and disbelief.
It wasn’t about him.
It was about me — the part that once tolerated such unconsciousness, the part that still hopes people will meet me in awareness and respect.
A few words escaped my mouth — soft, but sharp with truth.
And then, this morning, by the sea, I sat with the residue.
That strange blend of guilt and wisdom.
Because anger, when it returns, often carries a message:
You’ve grown too much to keep standing in the same place.
This year 2025, I realize, is the year of boundaries.
Not the loud ones that scream for distance, but the quiet, grounded ones that protect peace.
The kind that don’t punish or close the heart, but hold love with discernment.
Boundaries that whisper, I can care about you and still choose not to be near your chaos.
Healing, I’m learning, isn’t the end of emotion.
It’s the beginning of recognition — seeing the fire before it consumes, listening to what it’s trying to protect.
By the time the tide touched my feet,
the anger was gone.
All that remained was clarity — and a quiet knowing:
I have changed.