Unwritten Pages

Like a story I am writing myself, page by page,
with ink drawn from my own heart.
Another book to be placed on my shelf,
but this one—this one carries my truth.

Each chapter holds the weight of what I lived,
the silence, the storms, the sudden sun,
the sparkles in the night.
The mistakes are footnotes,
the courage shines in bold.

I give it a special place,
not to hide it, but to honor it.
For when I turn back the pages,
I will see the woman I became—
both the author and the journey itself.

And still, the unwritten waits for me:
blank pages wide open,
whispering of paths not yet taken,
of love not yet spoken,
of dreams ready to breathe.

The book is far from finished.
It is not the end of a story,
but the beginning of a thousand unwritten pages,
waiting for me to live them.

And all the while,
my hands remain steady on the pen.