Becoming

I was not born complete. I was born as a question, a flicker of breath in a vast and waiting silence. Every stumble carved me, every scar inked its lesson into my skin. Growth was never gentle, but it was faithful — it shaped me as water shapes stone, slow, relentless, inevitable. I used to think meaning was something to be found, out there, beyond the horizon. But meaning is a seed — and each act of kindness, each choice to endure, is the water that makes it sprout. I am not yet who I will be. I am not finished. But I am becoming — and that is the most human truth of all.