It Might Take A While To Get There and That’s Not a Bad Thing



Most times when we step onto a path we know where it’s going to lead. When we can’t see where that is we find comfort in the footprints that precede us.  And when its bleakest to see we listen for the voices that have left their remnants along the way in the hope that they guide us.

At times, our own paths look nothing like that.

They’re more like driving on roads with no roads signs to unknown destinations.  They’re more like finding comfort in the virtues of our own expectations. They’re more like listening to the voices of those that have done it before in the hope that we might one day.

They mostly sound like “Rome wasn’t built in a day” or “Good things come to those who wait” – or some quote behind some waterfall on Instagram.

And there’s times when we internalize those voices or see those destinations and play them out in our heads in the hope that they’ll become our reality – and maybe there’s times when they make that road slightly more bearable.

But sometimes we wake up and realize that we don’t want to build Rome.  That we just want to finish that degree. Or get that promotion. Or get to that thing that shouldn’t take as long as it is.

And in those moments we want something to make that path smoother.

We want to remove the rocks, the pebbles and the dirt.

Often its because we think that those impurities on our path are deflections from our own direction. We look at them like obstacles to the place we want to go to.

We often don’t think of paths as compilations of impurities. Of obstacles overcome time and time again.

And even though it might have taken a while, they were moulded by their own to process to become what they are today.

And that’s not a bad thing.


© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Warren Wong

Previously published by Thought Catalog at


the constellations disappear

behind backdrops

of raindrops

and tranquility

As raindrops

of light drop


into an infinity

of darkness

In patches

that patch




As drops of tranquility

pour amongst patches

of darkness

in patches

of our own infinity


as constellations appear.


© Hudson Biko


Romain Lours.jpg

You came and asked him why he stood there.

Staring into his eyes

Cold as ice

With words melting

Into ears

That for years

Could only hear

Your voice.


As we stood there


Like Outliers


Without words

Because we were never heard

Because we never had

Any words

To say


Because each time

He came with you


Like ice


into your eyes

That for years

Could only hear

Your voice.


© Hudson Biko


Photograph: Romain Lours



Benjamin Combs.jpg


I woke up to it


Threading itself

into threads

that barely held together


Staining the


that only stayed

because they


barely fade away


Infringing itself

on the fringes

because they

could barely hold themselves together


Because I could barely hold myself together.


© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Benjamin Combs