Prezly Writes

Sometimes we lose our sense of purpose, trying to lead a life that isn’t ours.

I. Running After the Train

I kept running after the train,
not because I feared to miss it,
but because they told me
that’s the path.

I thought I was late,
chasing the arrival,
not realizing
I was dragging time itself.

I could have entered once or twice,
but I never really wanted it.

Still, I kept running,
as if I couldn’t stop,
as if I had to pretend.

Until I got tired of myself.

The journey didn’t feel like mine.
The race gave me no pleasure,
no rush, no adrenaline.
I was just floating.

So I stopped,
in the middle of nowhere.

Did I miss it?
Where should I go now?

I looked around
and found scattered pieces
of my journey.
I gathered them,
twisted them
until they looked like something mine.

I couldn’t take a new train,
not from here.
But I could draw a map,
and walk this time.

II. The Mold I Created

I was told I was supposed to care,
to do something with the air.

So I faked interest,
started to move my hands,
to shape something
as if I knew what I was doing.

Until clay enveloped me.

I was trapped
in the mold I created,
not knowing,
not daring
to get out of here.

What if I did?
Where would I go?
I never really cared.

I was told I was supposed
to save myself.
I refused until I learned
how messy looks
an unshaped world.

I let fear lead me.
And ended up in something safe,
but ugly,
or rather fade.

I lost my flame.