Breathing stops. Snorkeling. A nervous hand, yet paralyzed. Heartbeats without rhythm. My gaze doesn’t know what to stare at. I seek, but I don’t know where. Lost in a blank but oppressive space. Full of storms inside, yet completely empty. Nothing. Nothing to lean on.
Everyone around me seems so full, so beautiful, so straight. But me—roadless, a vagabond—I am drifting.
I have no words to write. I have no songs to sing. I have no smiles to give. I have no thoughts to let fly. I watch myself erasing, entirely powerless. I no longer have this fire to fight injustice.
There is nobody to blame. Nothing has been taken from me. Life is no more or less rough on me than it is on others. Life simply plays the tides with me. With each wave, she gathers treasures from an unknown depth, only to take them back right after.
Along the tides, I am drifting.
Zyphera 