The Uncharted Page

This page is not yours to guide.

It is a path I walk alone —

not because I reject company,

but because some roads

are carved from solitude.

This page is a landscape

I am shaping with a pen,

a path that has always whispered

beneath my feet.

It teaches me

that what grows slowly,

lasts.

The ink is the river —

dark with memory,

flooded with questions

I once feared to ask.

Now I know:

uncertainty

is the birthplace of real learning.

You may not see

the mountains I climb inside,

the places I’ve had to let go

just to keep walking.

But I’ve learned —

not all weight is meant to be carried,

and release

is not weakness,

but wisdom.

I do not write

to fit inside your frame.

I live

to feel the full stretch of my being,

not to fold myself

into shapes that please the room.

And that, too,

is freedom.

This is not just ink—

it is what I could not say aloud.

A voice I reclaimed

when the world grew too loud.

And I learned:

silence is not always empty.

Sometimes, it’s where

we find ourselves waiting.

The landscape changes

not when others ask it to,

but when I outgrow

the shell I once called home.

True change is never gentle —

it cracks, it shakes, it humbles.

But it always opens

something deeper.

So no,

I don’t need your key.

I was never locked.

What I need

is the courage

to keep walking

my unnamed trail,

to listen when the soul whispers,

to speak

only when the voice is mine.

Give me a blank page,

a quiet space,

and I will show you

how even an uncertain hand

can shape a world.