There was a time
you could find me in the city—
not lost… but loud.
Moving fast enough
to mistake motion for meaning.
Neon bleeding into the night,
concrete holding the weight
of a thousand restless souls,
and I was one of them—
heels on pavement,
eyes always forward,
hands always reaching
for something just out of grasp.
Everything was there.
Everything.
At your fingertips, they said.
And they were right.
But no one warned you
how easy it is
to destroy your life
when everything is always within reach.
I met people there—
not by accident,
but by alignment.
People who wore exhaustion like perfume,
who smiled with hollow eyes,
who filled their silence
with noise that slowly swallowed them whole.
Activity disguised as purpose.
Movement disguised as growth.
And I watched it.
Felt it.
Lived inside it.
Until one day—
it stopped feeling like living
and started feeling like drowning
with good lighting.
So I left.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just… quietly enough
that the city didn’t notice
one less heartbeat
echoing through its veins.
And somehow
I found myself here—
Down a back country road
in Texas.
A place that once felt foreign,
too slow,
too wide,
too honest.
It didn’t fit me then.
Or maybe
I didn’t fit myself yet.
But something shifted.
Maybe it was the silence.
Maybe it was the space.
Maybe it was the way the sky
didn’t compete with anything
just to be seen.
Now the bluebonnets bloom
like they’ve always known my name.
Soft.
Unbothered.
Rooted in a way
the city never allowed.
The road stretches long
with no need to rush.
Dirt kicks up under my tires,
not as chaos—
but as proof
that I’m moving forward
without running away.
And at night…
God—at night—
The sky opens up
like it’s been waiting
for me to finally look up.
No neon.
No noise.
No distraction.
Just stars—
endless, steady,
unapologetically present.
And for the first time
in a long time…
so am I.
Out here,
in the middle of nowhere,
I found
my somewhere.
Not built.
Not bought.
Not chased.
Just… returned to.
I’m home.
Not because of the land
or the road
or the sky—
but because
I finally stopped trying
to outrun myself
long enough
to arrive.
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