Eddie Pinero

Is it foolish to reach?

To stretch for something that no one else sees?

To climb a ladder that completely disappears into clouds?

To follow a path with no name, no trail, and no map?

But what they never say is that the map is made by the one who walks.

The trail is born of footsteps, not instruction.

And the moon, well, maybe that moon was never the prize.

Rather, it's the decision, the declaration, the raising of the hand to the sky and saying, I don't know what waits around the corner, but I will go anyway.

And as for them, they won't understand that.

They won't see the stars you passed through, or the galaxies you shaped with every setback.

They won't feel the cold of the void you dared to enter, or the warmth of that first light after darkness.

To them, you missed.

You aimed high, and you missed.

But what they misunderstand is that you became something in the process.

Falling through the stars, it still means you touched them.

It still means you left the ground.

It still means you learned to fly.

See, they'll write stories about people like you without ever realizing they once warned you not to try.

Because it's easy to measure life by trophies.

It's easy to count only wins.