I’m coming towards you. Every day I’m moving myself closer. One day I’ll be where you are, but I’m already you. I’m not waiting for the day you arrive, I’m waiting for the day we meet again. You are part of me now, I had to have it this way. I had to become you. It wasn’t enough to want it, saying it alone didn’t work either. I had to become it. I had to do all the things you would do. My daily disciplines became my portal to you. How I did anything is what determines if I was you, or if parts of me still need cleansing. I’ll cleanse it all away and start over if I have to. My mind is set on getting there. Whatever it takes to get there, I’ll pay it. Sanity and all.
You were never something distant—I just hadn’t proven I was you yet. The gap wasn’t in time, it was in action. I misunderstood what becoming meant. Thought maybe I could manifest it with words alone. But now I see it clearly: becoming you meant sacrificing everything that wasn’t you. It meant letting go of comfort, denial, shortcuts, and cheap wins. You never took those paths. So neither can I.
Each repetition, each decision, each moment of resistance met with discipline—it’s all a ceremony of becoming. Not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet, grinding way that can’t be faked. There’s no timeline to this, just a trajectory. And I’m on it. I’m living like you now, piece by piece. Some days I falter, but I recognize it quicker. I cleanse the part that slipped, burn it off with repetition, and continue the merge.
I know now that I won’t wake up one day and suddenly be you. I’ll arrive there one minute at a time, one choice at a time. And when we meet again, it won’t be a reunion with someone I once dreamed of—it’ll be a homecoming. A return to the version of me that’s always been waiting at the end of this road, patiently watching me close the distance.
