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from pinterest ⋆｡˚ ⋆୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

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A journey without a destination

Then one day, you’re away,

so I do the same.

Then you’re back,

so I come back.

What you do, I’ll do the same,

because I can’t let myself fall into that trap again.

But then I begin to tire.

Where are we going?

It feels like you grab me by my left arm

as I cover my eyes with my right hand.

You walk with purpose,

you know the way—

but I don’t.

Still, I let you guide me.

Sometimes I stop and think:

Where are we really going?

I call out your name.

You’re nowhere to be found.

I call again—

you return.

“Don’t disappear like that again,”

I plead, my hand still shielding my eyes.

But I got caught up.

I wish you’d told me—

I could’ve prepared.

I feel a cold hand grip my arm once more.

Relief.

We continue.

It happens again.

This time I shout—

you return faster.

“How disappointing,”

I mutter, my sigh heavy.

“I couldn’t guide you.

I got carried away by the howls.”

“You could’ve whispered,” I say.

“I can’t—out of respect.”

So I turn to leave,

to guide myself this time.

But your footsteps follow.

You grab my left arm again.

“You weren’t going to come back with me?”

you ask.

I smile shyly.

We walk on, together.

We laugh.

We joke.

We learn how alike we are.

This journey finally feels right.

Until you mention the butterflies.

“The ones that become annoying

and expect you to always chase them”.

I pause.

“They ask for too much,” you say.

“Perhaps they expect what they give,” I reply.

Still paused.

“I held one for a while,

but it wanted more,” you continue.

“There were butterflies in this journey?”

I ask.

“How many?”

“A couple,” you reply.

Silence.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“Nowhere.”

“I thought we might go somewhere.”

“No.”

Silence again.

“Nothing on the other side of the rainbow, right?”

I whisper,

removing my hand from my eyes.

Tears pour down my face.

“I knew this would happen,”

I say, barely audible.

“No.

This journey has no destination.

This leads to nothing.

I myself can’t find my own destination,”

you confess.

I watch your hand

cling to that one butterfly

you can’t let go of.

“You deserve better,”

you say.

“Goodbye,”

I reply.

But in my heart, I know—

we can create a destination

if we really wanted to.

Even if we haven’t found our own.

-Sh

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anyways, happy new year

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