Jefferson Carson

I’m old enough to remember when rose gold was called pink

Most people don’t walk straight through life.

They carry something. An old wound, a quiet grief, a regret they never quite put down. Some limp where you can see it.

Most don’t. But it’s there.

In the hesitation before they speak.
In the way they love a little cautiously.
In the parts of their story they skip over.

We learn to move anyway.
To build a life around what didn’t heal right.
To find rhythm inside the uneven steps.

And maybe that’s the point.

Not to walk perfectly, but to walk honestly.
To recognize the limp in someone else and meet it with a little more patience, a little more grace.

Because none of us made it through untouched.

And somehow, we’re still moving forward. Probably humming a tune.