I've been waiting for so long to feel the drive to start, to move.
It never arrived. I never took a step.
My time was spent in wondering and waiting for things to be in their perfect form.
What's the reason behind all this waiting?
Is perfect the only version worth desiring, worth being, worth living?
Is it such a bad thing to leap and be lost and be confused?
Life is chaotic with no set form and shape.
Why should there be shame in that reality?
So why don't I allow myself to live and just be? And be ever changing?
There's liberty in beling allowed to discover. And to wonder and wander without expectation to find perfect in some corner some place someday.
It's riding and arriving and leaving.
I feel a sense of home in knowing I have the freedom to be lost.