She walks with maps that go nowhere,
With a pocket full of dead dreams.
Every road whispers, “Come here,”
She is unsure what it seems.
Tomorrow seems like a burden,
Too heavy for her trembling feet.
Searching for a road to call her own,
On unfamiliar, shifting streets.
What if the stars are simply waiting
For her to look up and not down.
She may not know where to go
But she’ll bloom in places never found.
There is something strangely lonely about feeling lonely with people around you. I don’t feel broken. I don’t even feel particularly sad. I just feel lost. As though I’m standing at a railway station where every train seems to belong to someone else. Everyone I know speak about purpose in life with remarkable confidence, while I keep searching for a feeling that tells me I’m walking toward something. Instead, my days pass quietly, one after another, carrying the uncomfortable weight of questions that never seem to find a place to rest. And there’s so many of them!
I’ve learned that people don’t always leave your life by walking away. Sometimes they remain exactly where they’ve always been, but something between you changes. The people I thought knew me best were the first ones to leave. I know I should not be complaining, that’s the way of things. But if you do not expect from those you know, you love, then who?
I keep returning to books. They have been my forever refuge. Never any questions asked but always there by my side quietly. They never pretend, they don’t set wrong expectations, they are just… there. And I guess I am slowly learning through these silent pages that there are entire chapters devoted to wandering, to waiting, to becoming someone. I still don’t know where I’m headed. I don’t know whether this uncertainty is temporary or whether it will become a permanent part of me. But perhaps life isn’t asking me to solve it today. Perhaps, for now, all it asks is that I stay.
-From the mind of a newbie book blogger & reader
