Cracked Compass

I used to trust the little arrow on my phone

like it was a friend who never lied.

Blue dot, calm voice,

Turn left in 200 meters—easy.

﹁﹂

Then one day it spun.

Just… spun.

A tiny dizzy ballerina

in the middle of a parking lot

behind a discount furniture store.

﹁﹂

I stood there with my keys

and felt my stomach drop,

not because I was lost,

But because I realized

How much I’d been borrowing certainty.

﹁﹂

Even the sky looked undecided—

clouds smeared like eraser marks,

sunlight blinking on and off

as if it couldn’t commit.

﹁﹂

I asked a stranger for directions.

He pointed with confidence

and I nodded like I understood,

Then walked the opposite way

because pride is also a compass.

﹁﹂

Somewhere a dog barked,

and a shopping cart clattered

and it all sounded like: keep moving,

keep moving,

even if “north” is a rumor today.

﹁﹂

Later, my screen finally settled,

The arrow snapping into place

as if nothing happened.

But I kept the feeling—

that hairline crack—

And I walked anyway.