Fog

Morning light through the blinds

Feels borrowed, feels thin

Every day asks a question

No one answers again

They say the world has no center

No script, no plan

So I trace constellations

In the palm of my hand

If nothing’s written in stone

Why does my chest still ache?

If I’m free to decide

Why does choosing feel like weight?

Maybe meaning is fog

You don’t hold it, you walk through

It appears when you’re moving

And fades when you stop to

Ask why you’re here

Or where it all ends

Maybe meaning is breathing

Not knowing… and staying

Time feels soft when I stop

Trying to name what I am

I exist in the echo

Not the final demand

Every fear wants a purpose

Every wound wants a sign

But the stars don’t explain themselves

They just burn in the night

If there’s no higher voice

Watching over my way

Then every quiet moment

Is mine to create

Maybe meaning is fog

You don’t chase it, you feel

Like the weight of your body

Reminding you you’re real

No grand design

No perfect sense

Just loving, and losing

And being… present

Existence hums softly

No answers, no shame

I’m not broken for asking

Or unsure of my name

If the universe is silent

Then my voice isn’t wrong

I don’t need a reason

Just to go on

Maybe meaning is fog

And that’s why it’s kind

It doesn’t demand certainty

Just a heart, just time

I don’t need to know everything

To take another breath

I am here

And for now

That’s enough

I’m here…

I’m here…

And that’s enough