No One Is Watching

How far must I walk to find what's truly mine?
It seems this trek is endless; I keep getting lost,
losing my sense of direction.
Can anyone direct me back onto my path?
But if that happens, is it really my path any longer?
It has been tainted, altered by an outside force.

Even in confusion, even at loss,
I will continue down my path.
I will reach my destination.
I will alter my course, I will track my coordinates,
I will find my way.

I am The Wanderer, and my path is solely mine.

Who am I even
Searching for?
Sometimes I wonder if
Searching itself is my
destination.

Who am I really trying to find?
Is it a person? an emotion? a dream? knowledge?

The vast ocean seems almost minuscule
in view of my everlasting search.

An endless loop
Inside The Box.

The box might seem suffocating, empty, vast,
yet escaping it is the only choice for survival.

The less constricting the box,
the more freedom we believe we have.

There is no
freedom within the box,
there is only constriction.

I am not moving forward, am I?
How come my feet are pulling me back, do I want to return?
I'm not sure. I'm not sure anymore.

The sea is beautiful, though. The tides are quite powerful.

In the event of rising tides, I'll have to move away.
I do not want to move away from this beautiful ocean.

To be alone is to feel emotions in conjunction.
Emotional planes tend to become obsolete when feeling deeply.

A fruitless orchard.
A filled blank canvas.
A Winter Warmth.

Once we stop conflating emotion with separation,
we may start to fully experience
what emotions were meant to be.

Systems, fully felt, fully understood,
equally, indiscernibly…

To whom it may concern,

The end does not seem as relevant as it once was.
Was there ever a start to begin with?
It might have been missed along the way.
The long, narrow, terrifying way.

To whom it may concern,

The beginning is not as clear as once was expected.
The previously lush grass and colorful flowers have become dull.
What will become of this path in the end? Will the colors return eventually?
The wait feels endless.

To whom it may concern,

I have stopped at a bench here, there, nowhere.
The light from the street lamp nearby makes me feel quite warm.
How long ago did I begin this journey? How long has it been over?
Who knows.

At least I feel warm.

Until we meet again, I will continue to move forward.
Until the sun begins to set, I will continue to bask in the heat.
Until the weight of my umbrella buckles under the heavy rain,
I will continue to hold it tightly.
Until I stop moving, I will continue to step forward.

The water is so clear.
It seems the sharks have completely disappeared.
I miss the sharks, I miss their presence.
I hope the sharks return..

A little person in a sea of other little people..
but maybe someday..

We never tend to know what
The Briefcase holds.
We live with the ambiguity of its contents.

We try to disregard the weight, the shape, the color.

The Briefcase is always full,
no matter how much we decide to look away,
to pretend it doesn't exist.

Between Worlds of contradictions.
Between Worlds of hysteria.
Between Worlds of anticlimax.
Between Worlds of seclusion.
Between Worlds of loneliness.