It breathes.
The centre is a heart, beating, pulsing, living.
I cannot find my way.

It shifts.
The movement confuses me, bending, twisting, changing.
My mind is uncertain.

It deceives.
I search because I am lost,
I am lost because I search.

To find what?

Myself.

My soul and my identity are calling, beckoning, luring.
I am afraid of what I will find.

The helping hands.
One my sage, the other my compatriot, smiling, listening, encouraging.

I know I must walk alone.
It knows.

For I am the maze,
And the maze is me.