Somewhere a place to go.

Wanderers arent lost.

Ive been having this anxiety almost every day. Infinite questions. Answers are just like a temporary light, a flash, a shimmering hope. The dread of the future keeps pulling me from behind. Maybe it doesn’t want me to unveil something. Oh. On a first thought, is there any?

Been a year since. Im strong. Am I? No. Just good at pretending. Yes.

These are the thought of someone who no longer have a place. I have nowhere to go. Don’t have a place to go back. No more comfort. No more place to hide my tears or even keep my dreams. Slowly. Im loosing hope. No. Hope is subjective, Im running out of strength. Let me rest, let me feel, again, my heartbeat. A place where you hear the sound of the river, the wind, the tress, birds. And at night, the cold breeze of the wind, the crackling sound of the campfire, the music from crickets. Its my place, its you. But I lost you, and now I wander. I lost my heartbeat.

I realized. Wanderers aren’t lost, somewhere, maybe, they look for a place where they can hear their heart beat.