Endurance in Every Step


This path I walk is not mine,
but I still walk it,
each step, heavy with memories
I can’t leave behind.
It’s the only place I return to,
the only place that feels close
to something like home.

The sun falls on the earth, on the grass,
on the water— and for a moment,
I let myself feel seen,
like I matter, even when I don’t belong.

Here, I’ve cried, wept into the dirt
spilled my soul in silence—
no one to judge,
no one to hear,
except for the ground beneath me.

The grass, the water, the sun—
they said nothing,
but they listened,
patiently and kindly.

One day,
the grass whispered back,
“Look at me.
They walk over me, crush me,
but still I rise
I bend, I break,
but I always stand.
So why not you."

The water spoke,
its voice is soft but sure—
“They use me,
dirty me,
but I keep flowing.
I carry away the dirt,
always moving forward,
never looking back.”

And then the sun,
its warmth touching my skin,
said with a quiet smile,
“I shine for all,
never asking for anything in return.
I burn to give light—
without complaint,
without pride.
You, too, can shine
with what little you have left.”

In their silence,
I found a lesson:
To endure,
to be thankful,
to live without bitterness
for what has been taken,
but with gratitude
for what remains.