I walk out there without the awareness of what is going around me.
I always take the road least treaded upon and I always find my way back home,
But this is…
But this is different from before.
She was always there to hold my hand when we trekked across the path of the unwillingly.
Holding hands with her gave me comfort when my eyes were felled upon with the nightened sky.
But this time she was gone.
Now I tread on this path of regret.
When she was on the path, the calmness of my hand was not enough to guide her.
She went forth with her eyes blinded by my mistakes.
The wolves crept behind her, taking advantage of her unawareness.
The bite that left a scar on her right collarbone left me with the guilt of never being there.
The spires of my mind curling up within my head, leaves me aching for the warmness of her reassuring hand.
But she’s gone, gone with the wolves.
