Is there anything heavier than a newborn?
Is staying just not leaving? All these years on the wind, I have no roots to put down.
Optimism has returned. I can do anything . . . but I’m still me, so only if I want to.
I am stuck in the space between what I think and what I do.
Not all who wander are lost, but I certainly was. Am?
The path that leads me away from myself always leads me back. It turns out, there’s nowhere else I can go.