A Letter to Heaven — Two Years Since You Left
Detachment, you whisper to me,
“Let go. Hold nothing too tightly.
Be free enough that nothing can chain you.”
And I nod, but inside I ache.
Because Connection comes to me too,
stretching out a hand, saying,
“Stay. Belong. Don’t live like an island.
You were made for arms, not walls.”
And I nod, but inside I tremble.
How do I hold both of you
without tearing myself apart?
Detachment, I need you.
Without you, I cling too hard,
I worship what can leave,
I collapse when people walk away.
Connection, I need you.
Without you, I shrivel,
I scroll for meaning in empty screens,
I forget that love is the language
I was born to speak.
And maybe you are not enemies.
Maybe you are sisters,
two voices teaching me one truth:
that my anchor is God,
and only from Him can I love without fear.
Detachment says: “Even if they go, I stand.”
Connection says: “Even if I stand, I don’t stand alone.”
And at the Cross, both voices merge—
detached from applause,
connected to a love
that death itself could not silence.
So I will not choose between you.
I will carry you both.
Because the holiest life
is one where I’m free enough to let go,
yet brave enough to hold on.