08.01.2026

Signpost

The lighthouse does not argue
with the signpost.
One points outward—
Norfolk Coast Path,
footsteps, weather, time.
The other stays.
Brick by brick,
it remembers every storm
that tried to rename it.
I stand between them,
holding a pocket of dusk,
deciding whether guidance
is something you follow
or something you become.
The sky answers in soft bruises of color,
as if even it
is still choosing a direction.
I turn neither left nor right.
I look up.
Some paths are not walked.
They are watched.

💫Maggie

The Afterlove Voice 💫