Letting go feels like a shadow, cast by a high tower, to which a map shows no path. From there these cravings wander after a meandering heart that's been blinded--
Hunger looks like a wind, stirs up the doubts and swirls them in the streets, unresolved yet purposeful in buying tokens of freedom. Thirst draws my heart in to yours, a tide pulled by the unseen, by the memories of heroes long gone and dreams recorded as fulfilled. Letting go feels like being shaken, yet being held still, a force of calm while a mean winter wind blows, in which the life is stripped away.
Filled looks like a thinking heart, planted in a place called closer.
With an ear against the door, even pressed against your wings, it learns a new language to guide and illuminate clues to the future and security for the coming evening.