A reflection on the quiet endurance of things we may carry, not by choice, but by reality presence.
Carry the weight of things not chosen, nor claimed, but inherited. They settle into ones life like dust on old shelves, quiet, persistent, never asking to be understood or accepted. Unwarranted by self-will, but exist by presence. And so one lives with them, not in defiance, not in surrender, but in motion. To some truths do not need conviction to endure.
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