I’m running toward the life I asked for, but my feet feel heavy with doubt. Every dream I chase turns around and asks me why I don’t believe in myself yet. I sit alone with all this wanting— wanting to be seen, wanting to feel enough without proving it first. Some days I swear I’m close, other days I feel like the distance itself. Still, I wake up reaching, because even frustrated, even tired, this hope in me refuses to leave. And how I’d love it so— to arrive without apologizing for the time it took me to believe I was worthy of the dream the whole time.