What if the sky forgot to be blue
and the wind no longer knew
the names of the trees?
What if silence wasn't peace,
but a question waiting in the dark?

What if you had taken the other road,
the one that bent sharply left,
Into the fog you couldn't see through?

Would you still wake
before dawn,
feeling something unfinished
hovering just outside your skin?

What if the truth isn't a fixed point,
but a mirror held at different angles,
each reflection more honest than the last?

What if you are not lost-
just paused
at the moment
before understanding?