This day is not a milestone,
but a turning of the page —
ink still wet from yesterday’s breath,
the paper warm with tomorrow’s light.
Between the lines,
the dust of old roads settles;
each grain a witness to feet that have wandered
yet never strayed from the Story.
The margins hold the laughter of companions,
the salt of tears unmeasured;
in the binding,
the quiet weight of promises kept through the night.
So we walk on —
not counting the days,
but letting them count us,
bead by bead on the cord of Eternity.