# Demarking the Quiet Line

## The Marks We Carry

Life leaves traces on us like pencil sketches on paper. A harsh word from years ago, a failure etched in memory, or expectations drawn by others. These marks define us if we let them—outlining regrets, roles, and routines. On a crisp December evening in 2025, as snow softens the world's edges, I sit with a blank notebook, wondering how much of my story is mine alone.

## Drawing the Line

Demarking isn't erasure; it's choosing what stays. Imagine a garden overgrown with weeds mistaken for flowers. To demark means pulling back, revealing the soil ready for new seeds. We set gentle boundaries—not walls, but whispers of where we end and the rest begins. Say no to draining conversations. Pause before labeling a day good or bad. In this simplicity, space opens for breath, for presence.

It's like fog lifting from a windowpane:
- Smudges of doubt fade.
- The view sharpens to what's near and true.
- Light enters unfiltered.

## Living Unmarked

Each demark is a quiet permission to begin again. No grand overhaul, just daily strokes removed. A friend once shared how she demarked her cluttered home, box by box, and found joy in empty shelves. I try it with thoughts, letting go of old scores. In time, we carry less weight, move with ease.

*In the hush of winter, demark to discover the line that was always yours.*