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Becoming

I used to beg the road to straighten,

to give me signs as I took each step.

But now — I walk with open hands.


There’s a hush in this in-between,

a breath held between what was and what might be.

Each closed door whispers of one unseen, opening.

Each ending, a soft echo: “Trust me, I know what comes next.”


I no longer need to know my next step.

The becoming is enough.

The shifting, the stirring —

are not signs of being lost, but of being written.


I am not finished.

I am not forgotten.

I am not forsaken.


I am clay in kind hands.

Trusting is not knowing the shape

but in knowing the Potter.


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© A. del Castillo
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