Liminality

There is a stranger in my reflection,
One I never learned to know,
He wears the dreams I once protected
And the fears I never show.

He walks the roads I used to dream of,
He reaches where I stayed behind,
But every victory he collects
Leaves something else behind.

He knows the language of achievement,
The numbers, names, and praise,
The endless race toward something greater,
The hunger that never fades.

I watched him trade his quiet mornings
For a thousand restless nights,
Exchange the warmth of being present
For the glow of distant lights.

He says, “This is what you wanted.
This is why you pushed so hard.”
But I wonder if the person winning
Is the same one who once dreamed at all.

Because somewhere beneath the titles,
The plans, the polished skin,
There is a voice I almost buried
Asking where I have been.

Maybe losing is not always failure.
Maybe slowing is not defeat.
Maybe the soul needs empty spaces
Where it can finally breathe.

So I will meet that stranger softly,
Not with anger, not with blame.
For he carried me through storms I feared
When I was too afraid to stay.

And perhaps becoming someone new
Does not mean the old must die.
Maybe every version of myself
Was just a different way to survive.