the slow burn of becoming yourself

the river does not stop to ask what it is; it just flows.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a quiet question inside me:

Who am I, really?

It was never loud — just a soft hum beneath everything I did. As a child, I asked it in wonder. As a teenager, I asked it in frustration. And now, as an adult, I ask it in silence — still searching, still unsure.