The young man strides Swagger in his step, A laugh escapes me, soft and low. I envy that young man. Not with bitterness, no— But with a warmth that fills my chest. How sure he is, His eyes like sharp edges, Cutting through the haze of doubt. How dare he— How dare he shine so bright, Unaware of the shadow waiting to catch him. Go on, I think, Take your steps, leap and run. This is your world now, Yours to claim, yours to break, Yours to heal when it cracks. But still, I smile. Because I see in him what I once was— And in me, what he might become. A quieter strength, Not the fire of youth, But the enduring glow of embers That keep you warm in the long night. I do not pity him, And I do not long to trade places. Let him wear the crown of Now. I wear the wisdom of Then, And I find no weight in its presence. I am not his reproach. I am his witness. A reminder that the steps behind him Are the same as the ones ahead. Carry on, young man. I am happy to watch you rise, Knowing one day you’ll look back— And smile at the man you’ve become.