I stand at the edge.
Not lost. Not hurried.
But chosen.

A pause not by accident
—but by invitation.
Something saw me standing.
Something crossed the veil.

Limen, silent-footed messenger,
You rubbed against my feet like a memory
I had forgotten I needed.

No words. No questions.
Just knowing.

I froze, but not from fear.
I froze because I was being called
To witness.
To remember.
To receive.

I accept this encounter
As a sacred appointment
Written long before today.

The road behind me is full of names.
The road ahead is unnamed.
But here, in the in-between,
I was met.

I do not need to know everything.
I only need to remain open.

And I am.

So I walk forward,
Marked by this moment,
Guided by stillness,
And watched over
by the eyes
that see in the dark.

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