# Demark

## The Lines We Draw

We spend our days drawing lines. A job title carves one in stone. A house pins us to a spot on the map. Children etch their names into our hearts. These marks define us, give shape to the blur of time. They feel solid, like footprints pressed deep into wet sand at low tide. On a quiet morning in early spring, I trace my own: years of striving, collecting, claiming space.

## The Tide Returns

But tides rise without notice. A missed promotion fades the edge of ambition. An empty nest softens the walls of home. Age smooths the sharpest achievements. Demarking happens not in force, but in quiet release. It's the hand that lets go of the rope, allowing the boat to drift. No drama, just the water's patient work. In this, there's relief—a breath held too long finally exhaled.

## Walking Unburdened

What remains when marks dissolve? Open beach, vast and unmarked. Here, each step is light, not weighed by where it's been. Demarking invites this: to walk forward without dragging the past.

- Pause before labeling a moment "success" or "failure."
- Release one possession that no longer serves.
- Listen to silence after a day's noise.

In 2026, as the world spins faster, this feels essential.

*Demark, and discover the horizon anew.*