the way home
I am tiring of paths that lead to walls.
I know each wall will have a door, but they’re difficult to find and even more difficult to open, and it takes up so much time.
They’re roadblocks. Pathblocks, since there are no proper roads.
Sometimes it feels like I’m looking for a place that doesn’t exist.
Or if it does, it doesn’t want to be found.
At least, not yet.
I wonder how long I should keep going.
I wonder if I have a choice.
I wonder if I’ll recognize it when I get there.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.