Sitting alone in a cafe, waiting for the news to come in. Really only thinking of the places I’ve never been and people that never existed. Names of faces I wish I knew, wish I’d loved, wish I’d never left.

There was a sinking in my stomach every time I moved away. And yet, here on the brink of something else — yet again — I am waiting.

Every change of direction in the wind has come as a surprise, a shock to me. As if I’d forgotten. As if I expected the things I had, the places I went, the people I spent my time surrounded by would never change.

And yet, I am the only reason I keep on moving.No place is enough. No home is complete. No life is what I’m seeking.

I think it’s the darkness that moves me more than anything.
I’m searching, seeking, hunting, tracking something that’s not quite tangible. You can call it a spirit or a way, but I’m not certain. Whatever it is, it constantly eludes me. I only notice when it moves, when its gone, when I’m alone again.

What will this new place create in me?
Who knows. Maybe, a scrap of hope.
But don’t hold your breath.

I may, just like young Fenugreek, be chasing the wind and myself.
Like Carbon hunting down some dream that no longer exists.
Like Kadense trying, desperately, to get back something that was permanently lost.
Like Charcoal, grabbing at something I can never have.

I should be more like Gravity, just waiting for the rest of the world to fall apart.
But here, alone in this cafe, I am not.


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