Don't

I don’t want you to hand me a map, drawn in knowing ink. I don’t want you to trace a path in the dirt and tell me to follow. No, I want to stand at the crossroads, the wind howling through my chest, and see a thousand paths unfurl before me. I’ll take my own steps. I’ll bleed if I must.

I’ll find my own way.

I don’t want you to tell me that wonder exists, that the world is full of magic. Show me. Show me a hallway stretching beyond sight, lined with untold doors. I’ll wander endlessly, barefoot on cold stone, pressing my fingers against weathered wood, pushing open portals to places I’ve never imagined. Let me stumble through landscapes where the sky burns violet and rivers whisper my name. Let me breathe air so thick with possibility it shakes belief.

I don’t want to be told that I will heal. Don’t give me timelines. Don’t tell me that time will mend the broken places. Instead, show me that healing is a field of wildflowers, growing stubbornly through the wreckage of life. Let me collapse there. Let me weep until my tears water the earth. Let me rest among the petals until one day, without realizing it, I rise. Whole or not, still breathing, still here.

I don’t need reassurance that I will love again. Don’t speak of open hearts and destiny. Just lead me to the ocean at dawn and let me watch the tide return. Let me stand there, salt in my wounds, and remember that even after the sea pulls away, it always, always comes back.

Save the motivational confetti for someone else. I want to hear the echo of my own footsteps on the long road. I want to feel the weight of my own survival on my shoulders. I want to taste the air after the storm and know with unshakable certainty that I have endured.

And when I ask about the meaning of it all, when the questions burn into faith, when I demand answers from the universe, don’t give me doctrine. Don’t hand me pre-written lines. Just tilt my chin toward the sky on a star-drenched night and let me drown in the vastness. Let me ache with the beauty of not knowing.

I don’t want certainty. I don’t want guarantees. I just want the door left open, the horizon stretched wide, the road winding endlessly ahead.