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.
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.