A lone Wolf,
Slipping into this day dream,
Often hit by this sudden feeling of insignificance that makes us question life.
Does it has a purpose behind it ?
Or we are made up of emptiness ,
Determining the rights and wrongs from the greys,
On some days we drive to the hill forest,
On some days we drive to the bar.
Is there a defined destination ?
These questions becoming seeds of doubt , growing into flourishing stories.
Heralded, neither love nor belonging lives here ,
They will breathe,
Our quixotic stories, they will exist, because we have lived them.