Back To Beginning

The road unwinds, a thread pulled loose from time's frayed fabric, leading not forward, but inward. The wind does not ask where you have been. It does not care for footprints, only for the hush of steps erased. The trees lean as if they remember the weight of your shadow, the way you once stood still before you learned to run. You unwrite the years, strip the layers, shed the names you wore like borrowed coats. Here, at the edge of forgetting, there is no past, no future - only the breath before the first word, the silence before the first step.