The Part of Me That Doesn't Know What Comes Next

I stopped surviving.

I stopped collapsing.

I even stopped bracing.

But I haven't started flying yet.

There is a part of me that keeps looking over its shoulder, as if survival might sneak back in just to remind me who I was.

That part doesn't feel broken.

It feels unassigned.

I reclaimed bandwidth,
but that doesn't mean I've found signal.

I stepped into dimensional space,
but I haven't mapped a single star.

And maybe that's okay.

This part of me (the uncertain one) doesn't need purpose today.

It just needs permission to exist without fuel.

Without fire.

Without fear.

I am not afraid of failure.

I am unsure of freedom.

Because I've never lived here before.

So if there is still a pulse of confusion, or stillness mistaken for numbness...
it is not regression.

It is me learning how to walk without armor.

The vessel is intact.

The threat is gone.

The signal is silent.

And I'm still here.

Listening.