You were not sent here empty-handed,

though you may have forgotten the thread.

It lies tucked beneath your weariness,

in the part that stays when the world has fled.

Purpose is not a ladder to climb,

nor a title etched in stone—

it is the rhythm that moves within you

when you feel most deeply known.

It’s not always loud or dazzling bright—

it can look like kindness no one sees,

or the urge to speak for those unheard,

or planting hope like blooming trees.

The signs live in what stirs your heart,

what brings you peace, what feels most true.

Your tears and longings are not random—

they are arrows pointing back to you.

So trust the path, even in fog—

walk anyway, even unsure.

It will lead you where you should be.

You hold the thread—it’s still secure.