Am I the walker, or the path I tread?
Each step a story born beneath my stride.
No road repeats—its tales, like threads,
Unspool as futures where my pieces collide.
To leave and return is to shed my skin—
The shadow I was no longer guides my feet.
Currents now bend to the course within,
No driftwood tossed, but tides I choose to meet.
Through storms I’ve gripped the helm, my ship to steer,
Ready to drown in waters I command.
Fear drowned in waves, the horizon draws near—
A dreamt-up shore emerging from the sand.
For every journey starts with steps unsure,
And I, once crawling, walk toward what’s pure.