They say, when you don’t know what to do, turn inward, begin by pursuing you. I try each day, though the path feels blind, a looping circle inside my mind.
My heart sinks low like a stone in a stream, yet I keep walking, still chasing a dream. I miss the mountains, their quiet embrace, the forest, the rain, the bird-song’s grace.
I build up walls so none can stay, then curse the silence that won’t go away. Alone, but safer — so I pretend, though loneliness sharpens at every end.
Still in the dark a small note sings, a faint reminder of gentler things. Perhaps this pursuit will one day show the way back home to the self I know.
Where mountains rise and rain runs free, and I no longer hide from me.
