The Courage to Let Go
Some wounds are invisible, yet they shape the way we love. Stories of forgiveness, second chances, and finding peace with what we cannot change.
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The Silhouette of Mountains
Heartfelt stories of love, healing, and self-discovery.
From Colorado’s high country — writing on forgiveness, personal growth, and the words that carry us back to each other.
A note before you read
“Some loves are called from a distance — across years, across silence, across the whole width of a mountain.”
This is a home for stories and poems about what love asks of us, what forgiveness costs, and how a person grows into the life they were meant for. Take your time here. The mountains aren’t in a hurry, and neither is healing.
— Lataurus
01 — Exploring Emotions
“Every emotion has a story. Like the shadows of mountains, our hearts hide stories of their own.”
Some wounds are invisible, yet they shape the way we love. Stories of forgiveness, second chances, and finding peace with what we cannot change.
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Growth is not always beautiful while it is happening. Sometimes we must lose ourselves before discovering who we were meant to become.
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Some feelings are too deep for conversation. They belong in letters, poetry, and stories that remind us we are not alone.
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“The moonlight tells so many stories.”From “No One Said This Would Be Easy”
02 — Poems
Poetry and writing by Lataurus — newest first.
No one said this would be easy. As a kid, I remember smiling, walking into school, the teacher asking, What do you want to be when you grow up?
03 — About
I’m Lataurus, writing as Lataurus Black from Colorado, where the mountains set the terms for everything: the weather, the pace, and the honesty.
The Silhouette of Mountains is where I write about healing through romance — not romance as escape, but as the place where people tell the truth, forgive what they can, and grow into who they’re becoming.
The four themes are the compass: forgiveness, growth, love as the way through, and the art of the words themselves. If a piece of mine has ever found you at the right moment, this site is being built so the next one can find you too.
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Follow along where the mountains, the city, and everything in between get written about first.
For readings, cards, and collaborations, reach out through Instagram or email [email protected].
No one said this would be easy.
As a kid, I remember smiling,
walking into school,
the teacher asking,
What do you want to be when you grow up?
I don't remember the answer.
Maybe a firefighter.
Maybe a president.
Maybe a father, raising a family,
the pillar,
the shoulder someone could lean on.
The answer was so innocent back then.
Now, looking back,
the smile is gone.
All that's left of that wide-eyed kid
is me, looking up,
staring at the stars
in the middle of the mountains.
The moonlight tells so many stories.
I wonder who else is out there looking up,
seeing the same signs I'm seeing,
looking past the stars,
trying to find their purpose.
Purpose.
It means so many things.
Not just father, husband, friend,
but the question itself:
What do you want to be?
Who do you want to be?
What are you going to be?
A man filled with love?
Or the rage that takes over?
The uncertainty,
the not wanting to be here,
or should I stay here,
fighting for what I believe in,
fighting for the dream of the little kid
who wanted to be a firefighter,
a president,
a father?
Or is it like so many other things
that slip between our fingertips,
forgetting who or what we are,
just coping with the day-to-day pain of life?
Pain sits with us.
Just because we can speak
doesn't mean ears will listen.
Just because we can see
doesn't mean our eyes are telling the truth.
I know this
because every time I touch you,
your arms no longer fill with goosebumps.
You pull away,
and in my mind I piece together stories
I can't believe,
stories that are hard to believe.
The door is here.
I watch you leave.
Your left hand on the knob,
your right holding a bag,
your left foot beginning to step out,
and my heart begins to beat,
and every beat feels like pain.
Every story has something.
Every story has its documentary,
written not just in words
but in spiritual pain.
I feel it.
Even with my eyes closed,
the tears still find their way,
dripping down my cheeks.
I see nothing but darkness,
pretending the world around me
can't see a man in need,
because you can't see me,
and you are my world.
So what do I want to be?
A firefighter?
A president?
A loving father?
In this moment,
I want to be a husband.
Someone you reach for,
who reaches back
and holds your hand.
I'm not afraid to show the world your face,
to let them see what I see.
Love.
November 2026.
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