Nothing Makes Sense Until It Does

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At first, the stars were scribbles,

The map, a tangled thread—

The path was paved in riddles

That spun around my head.


The questions walked in circles,

The answers hid in rhyme—

I tried to force the puzzle,

But it wasn’t yet its time.


Then softly, like a whisper,

Truth tapped me on the cheek—

Not with a roaring trumpet,

But a single, silver peek.


And suddenly, the jigsaw

Aligned with gentle grace—

Not because I chased it,

But because I gave it space.


Just scratching where it itches!

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