Again I find myself wondering, thinking, trying to make sense of something chaotic, hidden, and broken. Who have I grown to be? Who have I slowly became within the bounds of time that have steadfastly secured my existence? I look in the mirror, but cannot see who I am, instead, I see who I could have been, manifestations of my former life, underdeveloped paths that faded away in the darkness.
Why can I not stand on my own and forge my own road, instead of studying the bricks that have already been laid? Left pondering the meaning of every crack and crevice of roads already traveled. Why can I not start my own journey, instead of just being propelled in the breeze like an unmanned boat with a broken sail?
Sometimes I feel I need a guide, one with spirit and knowledge and a heart full of unknown things. Someone who will pull my head forward and show me possibilities, yet know when to release, at let me form my own destiny. Perhaps that guide should have been myself, but I fear my path has twisted to a point that I no longer have the chance to exit this jungle unless someone sends in the search teams.
But I fear the times have changed too much, and my dreams will be left unknown to me, and I will have to find a home within this land of earth and trees and understand that this is my destiny. Life has offered this path to me, sneakily, and with little intensity so that I could easily stumble upon it without recognizing the agony that might wait for me at the start of the ending.
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