Zach Gilkey

Something deep inside me pulls me to and fro— as if it knows where I should go.

In those moments, I swear I see the paths meant for me, though none appear clearly. A fog has settled across this long, dim road, and in it, I’ve misplaced my sense of where to go.

So I look again, searching within for the part of me that wants to grow.

The compass spins in every direction, seeking attention, seeking affection— never certain which way is north.

I only want a peace of mind, a refuge on the path— one that whispers, No… I’m not a trap.

And when the fog lifts, I know I’ll understand: I couldn’t choose a path because I hadn’t chosen myself yet.