the far bank.

distracted,
swept away by the chaos
inside and out,
forgetting what this is all for,
what it's all about.

the current pulling hard,
harder than i realized.
days passing,
the shoreline slipping away
while my back was turned.

then,
beneath the roar of the water,
something quieter:
a tug against the tide,
asking me to slow down,
to step back,
to notice,
to remember.

what sustains.
what supports.
what keeps me afloat.
what inspired the swim in the first place.

because without intention,
without attention,
vision blurs and priorities tangle.
and before i know it,
i've drifted so far downstream.

only to stop,
look up,
and ask:
how did i get here?
not with shame,
not with regret,
but with a compassionate kind of curiosity.

for that very question means i'm awake.
awake enough to notice,
awake enough to turn around,
to face the heavy water,
and see the distance between where i am
and where my heart was trying to go.

the river is still moving.
the current is still strong.
but now i remember which way is upstream.

so when giving up feels easier
than taking another stroke,
look to the far bank.
the fixed point beyond the water.
the guide it has always been.

back to yourself.
back to what matters most.
one stroke at a time.

and keep swimming,
my dear.
keep swimming.