wandering
if i was following a path, it vanished beneath my feet some time ago. there is nothing here but damp earth and leaves, and the faint smell of organic decay. and the strong smell of some other decay. decay of the light, perhaps, or of the energy to find my way again.
it's been a dark year, or two, or five, or ten. or seventeen. or twenty eight.
a wave of relief has swept over me. i've never had a path, and never had a destination. i've been alone here this whole time, wandering without the awareness that i was wandering at all.
i'll sit here to rest. just for a moment. if i stop moving for too long, i may never move again. maybe that wouldn't be so bad. who decided i was a creature who moved in the first place? just a creature.
maybe i'm the sort that burrows into the earth. or the kind that nests in a tree. wasn't i meant to fly?
i don't know what kind of creature i am. maybe i'll find another one out here. i'll be happy if i don't.