# The Quiet Dance of Vapor

## Morning Breath

On a cold February morning in 2026, I step outside and see my breath turn to vapor. It rises softly from my lips, hangs for a moment in the crisp air, then fades into nothing. No trace left behind. It's a simple sight, one we all know, yet it stops me every time. Vapor doesn't cling or demand space—it simply exists, then moves on.

## The Gift of Letting Go

This fleeting quality holds a gentle truth. We spend so much energy holding onto plans, worries, even joys, as if they could stay forever. But like vapor, most things dissolve: a job ends, a friendship shifts, a day slips away. Fighting this only tightens our grip, leaving us breathless. Instead, vapor teaches release. Watch it form and vanish without regret. In that lightness, there's room for what comes next—a new breath, a fresh start.

What if we borrowed this ease?
- Pause before reacting, let the heat of anger cool into mist.
- Cherish moments without clutching them.
- Trust the cycle: what evaporates often returns in another form.

## Everyday Vapor

Back inside, I pour hot tea. Steam curls up, warms my face, then disappears. It's nourishing without staying. Life feels kinder this way—full of these small vanishings that make space for more.

*In the space vapor leaves behind, peace settles in.*