I have cut the ropes, left the harbor’s grasp, where shadows of the earth linger heavy with the scent of salt and regret.

Now I sail alone, not toward a shore, but into the open arms of the stars.

Above me, the constellations scatter like broken promises, like love letters burned before they were read.

They whisper in languages older than the tides, words I do not need to understand.

No hands reach for me here.

No voices call me back to the shore.

I am untethered, a vessel with no port, a soul with no weight but its own breath.

Each wave folds under me like the pages of a forgotten book, its stories swept away by the currents of the cosmos.

Each star burns alone, and yet they light my way.

I am not lost.

To be lost, one must belong to something.

I am the wind, the sail, the silence between them.

This is my journey:

to dissolve into the night,

to let the stars consume me,

to exist as nothing,

and in that nothingness,

to find everything.