I walked without a map,
only a quiet pull beneath the ribs
a compass that spoke in silences
and turned when I dared to listen.

The ground did not exist ahead,
yet formed beneath each step,
like earth remembering me
as I remembered how to trust.

Wind carved my doubts into valleys,
night held me close in its dark mouth,
and still something softened,
something opened like dawn under skin.

I did not chase the horizon.
I became it, slowly
a line between fear and wonder,
where the unknown feels like home.