Once, there was a town of gold
where I stood beneath an empty sky,
hoping for rain.

The river was quiet.
The fishing line went still.
I knew him there,
though I could not remember his name.

Beyond the town stood my mountain...
older than kingdoms,
patient as stone,
watching me climb
without asking why.

I carried a mantra
inside myself...

Keep walking.
Keep searching.
Keep becoming.

The rain never came.

Still, the golden town remained.

And perhaps that was the lesson...
not everything we hope for
is meant to arrive as we imagined.

Some things become mountains.

Some become memories.

Some become the quiet strength
we discover in ourselves

when we finally realize

we were never waiting for the rain.

We were learning
how to walk beneath the sun.


Penned by my hand on the 16th of Lupar, in the year 1013 AF.