Though I bear this map, I feel more lost than ever. I found myself when I was not guided, and I’m striving to cling to that which was – despite treading in the very opposite direction. I am incarcerated by that which I have lost, and that which I cannot find. I am enervated by this search, encumbered by the load I bear, arrested by the shadows and pitfalls which strew my treacherous path. Wary I tread, preyed upon by doubt, as glimmers of crimson and grey shift through the wilderness. I falter, haunted still by yearning and regret and apathy, pursuing the trail imperilled only by shades and vapours, yet hallowed by the ease of logistics, interspersed with an abundance of still fountains and acerbic berries. I stride forward, yet I am motionless. For this path is already hewn. I walk towards this destination, yet I know it is not home.
In pursuit, I stray. In treading thus, I flee. In persistence, I surrender.
Though guided, I am lost. It is not courage, but fear, which impels me.