The Ego less Self

She lingers at the edge of my vision,
a silhouette I almost recognize,
yet she wears no name, no history,
only the quiet of someone unburdened.

She does not bargain with calendars,
nor wrestle with the weight of errands.
The noise of daily life slides past her
like wind against a mountain face.

I watch her with a restless curiosity
who is she, this stranger I somehow know?
Perhaps she is the self I left behind,
or the one I have yet to become.

She does not answer, only smiles,
as if the question itself is enough.
And I wonder if freedom looks like this:
a life lived without the gravity of ego.

She drifts beyond the reach of names,
untouched by the weight of identity.
Perhaps she is the mirror of what I seek,
or the shadow of what I must release.
She offers no answers, only presence,
and in her silence, I wonder, 
is she the stranger I watch,
or the truest self I have yet to meet?