It was not a problem at first.
It worked.
So I called it normal.
Only later did I notice the weight—
not pain,
just unnecessary effort.
Some problems do not exist
until you refuse to accept friction
as reality.
Then space bends.
The better path appears
without noise,
without drama,
and suddenly the old one collapses.
That is the strange law of understanding:
the solution feels obvious only after it is shown.
Before that, it hides in plain sight.
I imagine a higher-dimensional me
stepping down,
not to criticize,
but to ask quietly:
“Why are you carrying all that?”
Elders speak this way—
in simple words,
too simple to impress.
We dismiss them
until time adds the missing dimensions.
Then the whisper becomes precise.
Every solution I admire today
is proof
that I once stood too low.
And somewhere ahead,
another obvious truth waits
just outside my field of view.
