The week ends. The week starts anew. The journey, always derisive in the midst of challenges, is taking it's toil to my corporeal body. For each drop of grief, my spirit longs to console my ever forsaken emprise.
The door opens.
The door closes.
In betweens are the lust for peace to silent an abandoned mortal devoid of clarification.
When would this existential anxiety end?
The wind everyday is just too strong that it tears my soul from its moorings.
Yes,
I am lost.
And yet, it's the best place to be to find myself.
10.11.2019
12.53 PM
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