You walked ahead, I was a few steps behind. I don’t know when it happened, there wasn’t a moment. You had your pace, I kept walking in mine. The distance slowly grew. You didn’t even notice. I could have called you, said, wait for me, I’m here. But I wanted you to turn around without having to ask. Wait for me without making me call your name. Turn around and see where I am. I don’t want to run just to catch up with you. I don’t want to change my pace just so we can walk together. You kept walking ahead, I kept walking at my pace. And the space between us kept growing wider. So I walked faster. I matched the rhythm of your steps. The distance disappeared and I was there with you again. You didn’t see what I had done. For you, nothing had changed. But I had changed my pace. Wait for me without making me call your name. Turn around and see where I am. I don’t want to run just to catch up with you. I don’t want to change my pace just so we can walk together. Because walking together shouldn’t mean that one of us has to become the other’s rhythm. Let’s find a pace that belongs to both of us. Not ahead. Not behind. Together.
