My walking is about getting lost

My walking is about getting lost.

Yet still, in my braver moments, I can convince myself it is about keeping active or finding a higher self.

But, it is not.

It is about loss.

And during my wandering,

When I find a darker corner with moss covered bricks.

Or a tarnished, bronze plaque set in cracking cement that humanity has forgotten.

I feel noble.

Special.

But I am not.

My mind is too noisy to be anything other than broken.

And as I trace the fissures of the neglected footpath with my feet, I trace the fissures of my sutured soul.

And quietly remember, I am only whole when I am lost.

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