There are days when I walk without trying to arrive.
When I follow a sound, a color, a corner that turns without permission.
Sometimes I end up at a place with no name.
Sometimes at a stall that sells nothing I can hold.
And sometimes — like today — I find myself sitting under a small awning, holding a bowl of soup I didn’t know I ordered, listening to rain I didn’t expect.
And it feels right.
Not because it was planned. But because it wasn’t.
I used to think being lost meant I’d done something wrong. Now I wonder if some parts of me needed to be found — and this was the only way they could.
If you’ve ever ended up somewhere quiet,
with no direction,
but a heart that feels a little more full…
Maybe you weren’t lost at all.
Maybe you were just… on time.