The full moon sits heavy tonight.
Bright enough to thin the dark.
Quiet enough to pull things to the surface.
Nothing dramatic happens.
But the body notices.
A memory stirs. A feeling rises without asking.
Under a full moon, wolves howl.
Not to be loud.
Not to be seen.
But because something inside them reaches its limit.
This light does the same.
It loosens what’s been held.
Not to demand action.
Just to be felt.
You don’t need to resolve it.
You don’t need to name it yet.
Some things only need space to move through you.