The sky is bigger than I imagined
when I looked up from the ground.
It stretches without effort,
blue in a way that feels almost unfair.
Flying looked easier from below.
Up here, it demands everything—
balance, strength, belief.
And still, it tempts.
The highest peak keeps shifting,
always somewhere else,
just beyond what I am today.
I wouldn’t accept this.
I pushed harder than my wings allowed.
I fell.
I rose again—
each time believing
the next flight would spare me.
I fly like any other day today.
Certain.
Hopeful.
Then the air thins.
I fall into the treetops—
branches claw at me,
leaves scrape my skin.
I hang there for a moment,
caught between holding on
and letting go.
I untangle myself.
Drop.
The ground meets me without mercy.
I roll.
The pain spreads—
slow, deliberate, instructive.
I stand, but my body remembers.
Every step limps forward
with a quiet protest.
A porch appears.
Shade.
Wood cool against my back.
I sit.
Count my breaths.
Let the sun warm
what’s still alive in me.
Sleep comes gently,
like permission.
I wake to birds,
to the sound of leaves shifting.
My mouth is dry.
My throat burns.
I follow the sound of water—
slowly,
carefully—
into a backyard.
And something loosens in my chest.
Pickle jars drying in the sun.
A cane rattan chair
leaning into its own age.
A familiar pebbled path
under tired feet.
Nothing announces itself,
yet everything is known.
The rusted iron door waits.
This is the back of my house.
The knowing arrives quietly—
not with relief,
but recognition.
I didn’t arrive.
I returned.
The running is over.
Not because I won,
but because I am done.
A few steps.
Stairs that remember my weight.
A bed that holds
without asking questions.
The mountain view from my window
has not moved.
It did not chase me.
It did not punish my leaving.
It stayed.
And now,
it lets me stay too.
This is where it began.
This is where I was meant to be all along.
I am home.
Peace.
“Some journeys don’t end in answers.
They end in home.”
The GoldLife
