I am close, but not yet there. I feel the words as a murmur within. My path, calling me closer. My way, guiding me to itself. I have stepped off the wind and lowered myself from the sky to be nearer to it. But my feet have not yet found home. I have walked down roads and felt it calling me. We are almost here, he whispers, and I can feel the promise of his breath in my ear like a whispering breeze. We have never met, my path and I. But we know each other like my father knew my mother. Always beside and ever faithful, but never, yet, one and the same.
Still, I carry on and shall. His warmth casts shadows all around me, echoes of his nearness. I need only walk a little farther, a little further, and ever more. Should I wear my shoes to rags and bloody every treading sole I have, my injury will bespeak his healing. And though I have not known it yet, know it I shall. Else I will walk until my body lives no more, and the rest is taken by the sun.