Writers 
THE LAST JOURNEY
The wheels keep turning,
beneath the weight
of everything we carry.
I sit beside the window,
watching the world disappear
behind the glass,
while my hands hold tightly
to the memories
I promised not to lose.
Outside,
the road stretches forward,
endless,
like a story without
a final page.
There is a hand on my shoulder,
warm to remind me
that I am not alone.
No words are spoken,
but somehow,
everything is understood.
The bus moves slowly,
rocking us between yesterday
and whatever waits tomorrow.
I think about the places
I have left behind,
the people I could not keep,
the dreams that became
too heavy to carry.
Yet here I am,
still moving.
Perhaps life is not
about knowing where
the road will end.
Perhaps it is simply
learning to trust the journey,
even when the destination
is hidden from view.
The sunlight touches
the seat beside me,
turning moments
into something worth remembering.
So I lean back,
breathe deeply,
and let the road take me.
I may not know
what waits ahead,
but I know this:
Some journeys change us.
Some journeys heal us.
And some begin quietly,
with a hand held close,
a heart full of questions,
and the courage
to keep going.
