Sometimes, I hush —
and in that hush, truth stirs.

I take that last step into the unknown,
collect all my strength
and say goodbye to the past —
echoes of my former self,
images of all those still living inside it,
a chorus asking one last time:

“Say something… I am giving up on you.”

No answer.
No words.

Just a silence pushing me forward,
as if even the past offered its final goodbye.

Did the cosmos plan all of this?
Was it always there in my marrow,
whispered in dreams I refused to remember?

Behind the noise of purpose and plan,
beneath the masks I wore as “man,”
something ancient whispers:

What are you really chasing?

Gold?
Goals?
The dream of being seen?

But love —
Love is not the finish line I cross.
It’s the field I’m running in.