Flawed Existence

I am not the man they write in stone— not the hero who never falters, nor the sage who always knows. I am a collection of near-wins, almosts, and unspoken apologies. I’ve broken things I meant to hold, forgotten birthdays, raised my voice, bit my tongue too late. I’ve loved in crooked ways, told truth like riddles, and sometimes stood so tall just to hide how close I was to falling. But still— I show up. Every morning, I lace my shoes with fragments of hope. Every night, I gather what’s left of my better intentions and try again. I am not perfect— but I am present. Not pure— but persistent. And maybe that is enough. To walk this world not as a monument, but as a man— flawed, yes, but faithful to the becoming.