Trudging along.
Out, about, always around.
Always within.
Yet somehow without.
The Outsider.
Forever he is around.
Eternally quenching a thirst
Eternal is his drought.
The Outsider.
A part of many,
Apart from the many
He's forever found
Wherever, whenever.
Forever forgettable as the ground.
The Outsider.
Present as day when he's about.
When gone he's an echo.
An echo of a distant,
Long forgotten sound.
I've always lived a somewhat nomadic life. Moved around cities and schools, made loads of friends, lost so many more. I am soon moving, beginning a new chapter in my life. The first time in nearly a decade, and I'd forgotten how it felt to leave. I'd forgotten how easy and how fragile such human dynamics can be. I've never had long lasting friendships. I'm uncertain I will have many from the stay I've had. The frustration that built up in me, from my insecurities, from my fear of losing the people I consider closest to me, I've finally been able to vent. Not as romantic, not a happy ending, not something to lift the spirits, this. But a reflection of the chaos I've only just begun to understand again.
I may not be lucky. Though I know I am blessed.