I was not prepared
for this journey
in which I walk
alone.
All my life,
there have been
at least two
travelers at my
side,
but not now.
I have taken
a different route,
one that has no
path to follow,
no signs to
confirm that I
am walking in the
right direction.
Some have called
me suicidal
to choose such
a path,
for it is dark
and there is no
light to illuminate
my way.
Voices in the wind
urgently whisper
for me to
turn back,
telling me
that it is
a lost cause,
and that I will
soon be one
myself.
But I ignore
them, and press
forward.
My feet are sore
and ******
from wandering
barefoot in the dark.
My knees and palms
are bruised and
scraped from
all the times
that I have
fallen.
My face?
Tear-stained, but
determined.
I do not
know
how long this
journey will
take, but
I know this:
I will pursue
you until
I find you,
until you tell
me that you
no longer
love me.
Then,
and only then,
will I allow
myself to
die.