What if you were wrong

What If You Were Wrong

What if the life you’ve been living

was only one version of true —

a story you told yourself softly,

then forgot that you wrote it too?

What if the stranger beside you

carries a grief like your own,

a love they have never quite spoken,

a fear they have never been shown?

What if the walls you’ve been building

were never there — only your hands,

and the world you have judged from a distance

was waiting for you to just land?

Let the floor hold the weight of your armour.

Let your breath do the only work left.

You are not the opinions you’re wearing —

beneath them, there’s something more blessed.

We are all just the same ancient questions

dressed up in different skin,

searching for something to soften us,

searching for somewhere to begin.

So what if you opened a little —

not wide, not all at once, not today —

just enough to remember the others

are finding their way, like you, finding their way.