The path was no longer linear, but enveloping,

like a blanket,

Woven from the losses of searching and finding,

of unexpected discoveries and expected pain,

with a previously unknown strength and endurance.

The path from myself and to myself - again and again,

a journey like a cancelled appointment to heaven,

like an idea,

As guilt,

As salvation,

and damnation.

A path in all directions, but moving away from the start,

along a road, along a hundred roads,

where every roadside can be yours.

Moving from the certainty of the morning

to a thousand small defeats, like cuts with a thin blade,

along with millions of others like you,

With friends on the phone,

The path of total loneliness.

A path that will never end,

the constant search for the lost sense of home.