The boat didn’t make a sound.
It moved like breath —
slow and certain.
I didn’t know where we were going. But for once, I didn’t mind.
The river didn’t promise arrival. It just held us.
The woman rowing never asked my name.
Never asked why I came. She just looked at me like I had already chosen — long before I ever stepped aboard.
And maybe I had.
Some journeys don’t begin when we start walking. They begin when we stop insisting on where they’re supposed to lead.
I sat in that boat and watched the shore slip away without fear.
And for the first time in a long time,
it didn’t matter where it went.
It only mattered that I was finally okay with not knowing.