The Reshaping

The water doesn't argue with the stone. It simply visits, again and again, carrying its small persistence, wearing nothing, proving nothing.

Years are just the stone's slow memory— each grain a story it learns to release, each smooth surface a forgotten edge.

You might think this is loss, but the stone becomes something lighter. It learns to fit the river's shape, becomes almost a mirror of the water's weight.

This is how you change too, not all at once, but in the surrendering, in the small erosions you do not choose, in becoming what the world has needed you to be.