Caught Between What Is and What Might Have Been
Caught Between what is and what might have been.
He dwells in the ache of both.
The sail is motion - wild, uncharted, untethered.
It calls with the voice of youth,
of roads not taken,
of stories that could have been written in salt and wind.
Security is the harbor, the lighthouse -
quiet, earned, enduring.
It holds the shape of love chosen,
of roots planted,
of mornings that arrive without surprise.
He does not regret the anchor,
but he remembers the wind.
He does not curse the stillness,
but he feels the pull of the tide.
This is the tension that defines him:
not indecision,
but devotion to both truths.
That he could have sailed,
and he chose to stay.
That longing does not mean loss - it means he chose the life he lived with his whole heart.
Caught Between What Is and What Might Have Been
Caught Between what is and what might have been.
He dwells in the ache of both.
The sail is motion - wild, uncharted, untethered.
It calls with the voice of youth,
of roads not taken,
of stories that could have been written in salt and wind.
Security is the harbor, the lighthouse -
quiet, earned, enduring.
It holds the shape of love chosen,
of roots planted,
of mornings that arrive without surprise.
He does not regret the anchor,
but he remembers the wind.
He does not curse the stillness,
but he feels the pull of the tide.
This is the tension that defines him:
not indecision,
but devotion to both truths.
That he could have sailed,
and he chose to stay.
That longing does not mean loss - it means he chose the life he lived with his whole heart.