Kairos, not to be mistaken with Chronos. The divine timing. That everything happens the moment it’s meant to and not a moment sooner. I find myself hesitating in case I’ve got it wrong. Perhaps I shouldn’t commit these thoughts to words. Perhaps I shouldn’t announce them into being, where once born they can’t be reclaimed. How can I know if I have it right this time?

But maybe that’s a consideration not worth having. I don’t know if I could find it in me to regret feeling something so lovely so fully. Perhaps it’s the best kind of thing to be wrong about. In the end, maybe I’d rather have lived like it was until I know that it’s not.

And then again, maybe it is. Ley lines leading me home. Perhaps I let myself feel, in portioned quantities, the inkling of an idea. A strained dose of excitement at the thought of what if. So conditioned to become skeptical, so used to standing alone. I’ve forgotten the possibility, no matter how remote, that maybe I’m exactly where I need to be.