Love is Our Weapon.

            You think you know me but you don’t. You automatically define me, but are too afraid to actually know why I act the way I act. You don’t know me. But the truth is that I don’t even know myself. So I guess we have one thing in common. But I do know one thing.

            I am lost.

            Being lost is not understanding what you are writing about and are writing it anyway. The pen keeps moving and the words keep forming and the mind keeps thinking but when asked to explain, you can’t explain it.

            Being lost is when asked where you will be in five years, you won’t be able to respond because you can’t see it. Or maybe you just don’t want to see it. You want to fast forward on your life, but go through it in slow motion as well. All you can see are the memories that cracked your smile and kept you up at night. The future scares you. The future means that there will be more confusion. And that confuses you even more.

            Being lost is wanting to go one way, but knowing you should go the other way. Words are better left unsaid. Or so it seems. Or maybe because there are no words left to say.

            But here I am still making words and trying to understand something that there might not even be an answer to. Sentences don’t need structure when you’re busy structuring your own life.

            Being lost is wishing that someday, you’ll know where you’re going. At least I know I’m lost. It gives me a chance to find out what I can do to keep going. But for now, being lost is who I am. And for now, I’m ok with that.