Photo by Clint Patterson on Unsplash
A graveled road.
Uneven.
Unfinished.
Crunch.
Pause.
Stone shifting.
Not smooth.
Not yet.
Perhaps—
it’s only rocky
because it waits
to be paved.
That thought—
sharp.
Pressing.
Every stumble—
a mark.
Every bruise—
a note.
The road holds me.
Tests me.
Teaches me.
Half-step.
Half-thought.
Between leaving
and arriving.
Graveled path.
Graveled silence.
Lessons written—
unfinished.
Already true.
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