Roadtrip

Life has a quiet way
of taking inventory.

Not with ledgers or numbers,
but with empty chairs,
well-worn coffee mugs,
and songs that suddenly
mean something different.

I used to think
I was collecting moments.

Now I wonder
if the moments
have been collecting me.

Every goodbye
left a fingerprint.

Every kindness
stitched another thread
through the fabric of who I am.

Even the heartbreaks
became teachers.

Especially the heartbreaks.

The mountains never apologized
for changing with the seasons.

The ocean never questioned
whether it had earned the tide.

Perhaps becoming
was never meant
to feel comfortable.

Perhaps growth
always asks us
to leave a familiar version
of ourselves behind.

If that is true,

then I hope I keep choosing
the longer road.

The one lined with wonder.

The one where strangers
become friends,

where ordinary afternoons
become treasured memories,

and where love,
in all its imperfect forms,

continues to prove

that the things we carry away
are never possessions.

They are the pieces of ourselves
we discover
along the journey.