I reached the sun, but it never touched me.
Too close to burn, too far to freeze.
Mercury spins—chained to a path,
never still, never home.

I have held the fire, but my hands are empty.
The gold I chased turned to dust in my grip.
I have seen the heights, but never stopped to breathe.
What was I running from? What was I running to?

The silence should be peace, but it isn’t.
The weight should be gone, but it lingers.
I have everything, yet nothing holds me back.
No shadows, no echoes—only motion.

I turn. The stars do not follow.