Nomad

I wander through fields of forgotten echoes.

The air is thick here. Heavy with things left unsaid. Footprints fading into unfinished promises.

The sky spills its secrets in slow exhales. Low, endless, waiting. Omnipotent witness to everything that has been lost.

Always forward.

I am a nomad of broken dreams, walking the broken roads. An odyssey of ghosts.

I gather them, even though I do not know why. Maybe because they should not be left behind.

The wind shifts, carrying voices, unraveling before I can grasp them.

They drift through the trees, dissolving before they reach my ears.

Are they calling for me?

Or am I just another passerby, deaf to their unfinished stories?

I do not ask for answers.

Through the labyrinth of time, I walk.

Each step is an echo. Each path is lined with shadow.

The weight of memory lingers.

Mountains of anguish rise before me. Their peaks veiled in the shadows of yesteryear.

Unyielding.

They were here long before I arrived, and they will remain long after I am gone. But still, I climb.

The cliffs bite into my hands, jagged and unkind. I bleed a little. It does not stop me.

The wind howls its protest, trying to push me back. I let it rage. I let it claw at me, pull at my skin, fill my ears with the howls of things I cannot change.

It does not break me.

Amidst the chaos something sounds. Something small. Something quiet.

A heartbeat.

Mine.

I am still moving.

Still alive.

And deep inside a flicker. A thing untouched by sorrow.

And in that ember, a promise.

Even in the depths of despair, something radiant is born.

So I keep going.

A pilgrim of the soul. Walking paths through realms of shadow and light.

My footprints may fade. The wind may take every trace of me. But that does not matter.

Because somewhere ahead, beyond this night,

A new day waits, unwritten.