With every year, the dream drifts further,
like sand slipping through open fingers.
Will I ever hold it,
or will I watch it dissolve into the tide?

I ask the sky, the stars, the silent walls
Am I falling behind?
Am I living up to the sacrifice of all generations
All stories that came before mine?
Or am I just watching, waiting,
as my chance fades into a story of almost?

I have high aspirations,
a hunger that burns through my chest,
a longing too sharp to ignore.
But fear lingers in the quiet moments
what if I never get there?
What if the throne I reach for
was never meant for my hands?

“Everybody wants to rule the world,” they say,
but what if I want more than just power?
What if I want to be seen, to be followed,
to be a light in the dark
yet still have the grace to admit
I have stumbled along the way?

I have made mistakes.
I have cracked and broken
and rebuilt myself from the pain.
But I would not change a single misstep,
I would not rewrite a single regret.

All because someone wonderful once told me,
“Don’t regret the past, it’s what got you here.”
And I would do nothing to turn back the time,
for this is my story, and every scar, every choice,
every whispered doubt
has shaped the person standing before you today.