Walking

Diffuse, confusing, narrow, dark, criss-crossing, random, illusory paths.
Life is made of them, we are weavers.
At the age of three I knew exactly where I was coming from, I knew how to make intuitive decisions, I knew how to align my heart and mind; as the years went by these abilities were disabled by their disuse, they became less and less effective to such an extent that they are still dormant today.
It used to be a little less difficult to listen to myself, but now it's a disaster. Noise, endless noise, deafening, exhausting... the closest thing to stillness is when night falls, while it lasts it is enjoyable but not enough, because you know that soon dawn will come and with it the awakening of the city. Chaotic, spinning on the way.