The dock was empty.
The sky had already turned soft.
I didn’t plan to stay long. I thought I was passing through.
But then a bird landed near me. And stayed.
And then a breeze. And then the light shifted.
And I realized — I wasn’t passing through anything. I was being held.
By the bench. By the quiet. By the fact that nothing was asking me to leave.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t write. I just sat.
And for the first time in this whole journey —
I didn’t feel like a visitor.
I didn’t feel like I was finding somewhere new. I felt like I had finally reached a place that had been waiting for me to arrive.
That place wasn’t the dock. Or the town. Or the country.
It was the part of me that no longer needed proof.
Just a moment. Just a pause. Just this.