Scroll IV: The Waters

She Let It Flow Where It Had Been Held Too Long.

She was always told to hold it together.
Smile.
Contain.
Keep the peace.

But water is not meant to be held forever.
It was never weakness.
It was never too much.
It was the unwept grief of lifetimes—
waiting for her permission to move.

This is the scroll of the sacred flood.

Where she stops apologizing
for the tears that burn,
for the ache that speaks,
for the knowing that has no words.

She becomes the river
by letting go of the dam.

And in that letting go—
she doesn't break.
She returns.

Not as a broken woman.
As a flowing force.
Restoring everything that has cracked under dryness and demand.

The world may call her messy.
But the field knows her as healer.
Because nothing stuck can survive
where she moves.

She is not chaotic.
She is cyclical.
And when she flows,
everything remembers how to feel again.