I’m Lost and Losing

I’m lost and losing—

at least that’s what it feels like

when the nights get long

and my thoughts start keeping score.

Counting every mistake.

Every door that closed.

Every person

I couldn’t hold onto.

The tally grows.

And some days

it looks like proof.

Proof that I’m falling behind,

that I missed something important,

that everyone else

got a map

I never received.

But feelings

are convincing liars.

They take a hard season

and call it a hard life.

They take a setback

and call it an ending.

So I sit here

between what’s true

and what hurts.

And the truth is—

I have lost things.

People.

Time.

Pieces of myself

I’m still trying to find.

But losing things

isn’t the same

as being lost forever.

Because even now—

with doubt in my chest

and questions in my head—

I’m still moving.

Still searching.

Still showing up

on days

I’d rather disappear into sleep.

Maybe I’m not losing.

Maybe I’m just

in the middle of something.

The part of the story

that feels like failure

before it makes sense.

And maybe being lost

isn’t proof

that there’s no way forward.

Maybe it’s just proof

that I haven’t found it yet.