this feels like a foreign place, as if i have never been here before, but i know that to be untrue; it has just been a long long while.
lesser intensity, lesser wants, lesser doing. but here i am, treading on my own dreams.
an eternity ago – those cold grey yesterdays – i sobbed to myself i can never do it again and that I cannot survive another world of darkness. and so i took off and ran away – as far as i could, lost directions, forgot myself, and traversed roads not meant for me. yet now a path lies in front of me, all blurry like a watercolour painting that has been gently smudged or sprayed with mist. but smudged or otherwise, it is there nevertheless, waiting to be recognised, appreciated.
i wasn’t looking, i haven’t been searching, but i found, or maybe… it is me who have been found.