you are where you are.
not in the advertisement, not in the diagnosis,
not in the story they sold you about yourself.

you are the silence between the walk.
the space after the scam has been named,
before the next step is taken.

you are not only the center.
you are also the edges,
where you end and the world begins,
and where that boundary bleeds like ink,
meaningless and beautiful.

you are in your shoes,
worn down by paths you did not choose,
and you are in the shoes of the other,
feeling the same stone through a different sole.

you are the one gazing at the star,
reaching for a light that left millennia ago,
while your other hand rests on the bark of the closest tree,
feeling the slow, sure pulse of now.

you are not the product.
you are not the brand.
you are not the isolated individual.

you are the tree, after all.
rooted in the dark, reaching for the light,
fed by the same earth that feeds your neighbor,
giving shelter without ever being asked.

the front seat is empty.
the noise has stopped.
now, simply breathe,
and grow.