Purpose hides in the aftermath, not the act.
The farmer’s purpose is not planting seeds—it’s the bread on a stranger’s table.
The singer’s purpose is not hitting the right note—it’s the healing that rises in someone’s heart.
A candle does not exist to hold wax and wick.
Its purpose is the light it leaves in the room after the flame is struck.
A river does not flow just to move water.
Its purpose is the life it nourishes along the banks.
And you—your purpose is not in the titles, tasks, or trophies.
It is in the unseen shifts:
the stranger who smiles because you were kind,
the friend who dares because you believed in them,
the soul who hopes again because you chose not to give up.
Purpose is never what you do.
It is what remains in others when you have done it.
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