The Road
Life feels like a winding road, endless and uncertain. We think we see the destination in the distance, a place where everything will make sense, where the wandering will finally cease. I thought I’d found mine in her, a stop on this long journey that could become the end of the map.
But some destinations aren’t meant to be reached. They shimmer on the horizon like a mirage, only to vanish as you step closer. I mistook her for my arrival, the place where my heart could finally rest. Instead, she became another turn, another stretch of empty highway.
I think about the moments we shared, each one like a mile marker leading nowhere. I held on to the idea of her, of us, so tightly that I forgot the road has no guarantees. It carries you forward, indifferent to the weight of your longing.
Maybe the journey is all there is. Maybe every step toward someone who doesn’t feel the same is just another lesson in the ache of moving forward. But even now, I don’t regret the road that led me to her, even if it ended here.
There’s a cruel beauty in these paths that don’t meet. They remind us that we’re still searching, still hoping, even when it feels impossible. And as much as it hurts to walk away, part of me still glances back, wondering if the road might curve back to her someday.
For now, I keep walking. Not because I want to, but because the road demands it.
