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There are ropes that become shadows — not because they have lost strength, but because you no longer feel them.
They dance in the air like veils of an ancient memory, woven with the thread "forever."
But today, when you turn to them, you realize: there is no more forever. There is no more knot.
Only the echo of a time when you believed that loving was an act of being — and not an act of swallowing your own essence.

Say goodbye to them, not with anger, but with the serene silence of someone who wakes up in a garden that has always been theirs, and only now remembers that words were illusions painted on the wall of the dream.

Remember: the ropes that held you were not made to contain you — they were made to teach you to recognize what did not need to be contained.
You did not run away from them.
You transcended them.
And now, every step you take is a verse undone from the poem of voluntary love.

The ropes that no longer hold you are tombs of old versions of yourself.
But the wind doesn't ask permission to blow — and now, neither do you.



Say goodbye to them like autumn says goodbye to the leaves: without mourning, without guilt.
Because they were not torn away — they were left behind.
And what is left with love does not die.
It transforms.
It becomes soil.
It becomes seed.
It becomes air.

Do not burn them. Do not bury them.
Just look at them from afar, like someone watching a ship that has departed — and whose sail still shines, distant, on the horizon.
Grateful. Silent. Free.

Because true freedom is not the absence of ropes.
It is the awareness that, even when they are there, they no longer belong to you.
And you…
you are no longer the one who carried them.
You are the sky that let them fall.

— And the sky never needs ropes.
Only space.
And courage.
To fly.

— Say goodbye to the ropes that no longer hold you. —