The first step is always the scariest.
Flat ground, rocky gravel, or the wetness of mud,
Each surface whispers the same question:
“Are you ready for this?”

Maybe it’s the weight of what you’ll carry,
The time you’ll pour into something unknown,
The room in your heart you’re afraid to test.

You glance back once, and the past calls out—
Old anxieties bubbling like a familiar song.
The ground feels heavier, pulling you down,
And the past tugs harder, asking,
“Do you really want to try?”

Time feels slippery, seconds fleeing
Like grains of sand in an hourglass.
The silence stretches endlessly.

But the wait is normal,
The pause necessary—
Every thought aligns itself,
Mapping roads you could take.

Now comes the choice.
Hesitate, and fear holds you still.
Act, and fear follows close behind.
But which fear will you let guide you?

The answer is simple:
Each choice is its own kind of right.
In a world without guarantees,
Every step brings an answer,
Even if it’s not the one you expect.

Place your trust in movement.
Start from scratch, and start again.

“What if I fall?”
But Darling, what if you fly?
Doesn’t the world look brighter
When you’ve taken the first step?