Pixabay
Not precisely lost. not in a panic. Simply drifting, like something swept by a stream I declined. Days come and I do what has to be done, yet it seems I am seeing it rather than experiencing it.
Things were once crisper. Plans took shape, choices weight, and even mistakes felt like motion. Everything is softer now, as though the edges have been smoothed. There is nothing clear enough to chase; nothing urgent enough to fight for.
Drifting is quiet. It has neither signals nor warnings. It's silent. From the outside it seems like regular existence. You wake up, you go through the actions, you answer when required. Inside, though, there's this area where orientation once was.
And the weird thing is that some of me does not fight it. Not deciding, not pushing too hard, letting events unfold as they are has a simplicity. No pressure, no expectations, no sudden curves.
That convenience comes at a price, however. Since you forget what it was like to select if you drift long enough. To move purposefully. To utter, "this is where I'm going," and mean it.