THE LINE THAT RUNS TROUGH US

 There is a line that runs through everything, through the streets and the rivers, through time and thought, through you and me. You can't always see it, but you can feel it tugging beneath your skin, guiding your steps even when you think you are lost.

I used to think life was a race. there was always a start gun, and somewhere ahead, a finish line that bright ribbon waiting to break across the chest. I ran with conviction that if I could just reach it, I would finally rest. I would finally arrive. But years blur, and so do the lanes. I start to notice that no one really crosses the line; they only loop back, change tracks, start over. The finish line keeps moving, like a mirage in heart. The closer you get, the farther it shifts, until you understand that the race itself is the destination.

Some people sprint through their days, terrified of slowing down. Another walk barefoot tracing the cracks in the pavement like veins in hand. There are mornings where I want to burn through, lists, fear, and nights when I just want to stand still and listen to the quiet hum beneath it all. It connects us every story, every mistake, every small triumph. You can feel it in the moment someone reaches out a hand you didn't expect, or you hear you own laughter echo, and I realize it sounds your mother's. It is in rhythm of footstep beside you. Marching pace for a while before parting ways.

The line doesn't end. it bends. It threads through people, weaving a tapestry so intricate we only see the fragment at time. Maybe the purpose isn't to cross it, but to follow it, to let it pull us toward each other, toward understanding, toward something bigger that arrival.

One day, perhaps, we will realize the finish line was never meant to crossed, I was meant to be shared. Because the line that runs through me is the same one that runs through you.

Samuel MUTABAZI