On A Day Like Today

I knew the texture of my days there—

the familiar components of the table,

the weight of the chair,

I knew what tomorrow would ask of me.

I stayed because the floor was steady,
even when the ceiling pressed lower with time.
Stability can feel like kindness
when fear is louder than desire.

But something in me kept knocking—

a quiet insistence,
a restlessness that learned my name.

I began to notice how often I exhaled
Only before I went to sleep.

So I left with trembling hands,
not because I was fearless,
but because staying had begun
to cost me more than leaving ever could.

Beneath the fear,
there is a pulse—
the unmistakable rhythm of becoming.
I am learning that uncertainty
is not emptiness,
it is space.

I am meeting myself
without a title to lean on,
without a badge of legitimacy.
And still, I remain.

One day, a door will open
because I knocked as myself;

One day, a door will open

And tell me that it's where I belong.