what i'm looking for.

"I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I'm arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."

- Gandalf, The Hobbit.

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An adventure does not begin when you take the first step out.

An adventure begins when you take the first step out, leaving everything else behind.

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She held on to the glass bottle.
It was filled with layers of different coloured sand,
from the many places she travelled to.
She did not want to give it up.

So much hard work, so much effort spent.
How could she give it up so easily.

She held on to the glass bottle.
Determined to make a prettier bottle of sand,

she set out to seek out new places
with beautifully coloured sand.

Her baggage was full,
there was no space for the current bottle.

Always on-the-go,
she could not afford to leave the bottle behind.
She was unwilling to give it up.
But she knew deep down that,

she wasn't satisfied.
She was unhappy.

She wanted a nicer blend of colours.
She had to start over.
She wanted to explore new places,
and possibly find even nicer sand.

Stuck in a dilemma,
she wondered what she should do.

Is there a should or should not?
Is there a could or could not?
Is there a would or would not?
But she had a will.

She wanted to create something better.
She wanted something more beautiful.

She wanted to find something
that could make her smile.
She wanted something
that could take the fears away.

At least for awhile.
Hopefully.

In her struggle to make a decision,
she dropped the bottle.
It was too late to save,
it was broken.

The tiny glass pieces, the beautiful sand,
littered the floor.

She panicked,
unsure what to do,
unsure if it was a blessing
in disguise.

She stared at the shattered mess,
left with two choices.

She could move on,
leave the shattered pieces there,
or stay rooted there,
with chances of stepping on them.

She looked forward to a new glass bottle,
with the reluctance of leaving this bottle.
But it seems like the decision for her
has been made.

It wasn't her choice,
but now she still had to choose.

She decided that she would just create a new one,
leave this old shattered bottle behind.
She would make one even better,
better than this old one.

With determination,
she set off.

While she walked off,
she wondered about the shattered glass pieces.
Would they hurt anyone else?
Would someone else step on it by accident?

She started to turn back,
was she supposed to turn back?

Is there a supposed to,
and not supposed to?
Is there a definite right,
or definite wrong?

She wanted to go back,
to pick the pieces back up.

She wanted to clear the path,
keep it clean, keep it safe,
without hurting anyone
who goes along the way.

Altruism?
She wondered.

Or did she just want closure?
Did she just want to get rid of all the broken pieces
so she would never have to look at them
or think of them again?

Too many questions,
too many thoughts.

While picking up the pieces,
which was a decision made,
she wanted to let all that go,
she wanted to throw it all away.

While picking up the pieces to throw,
she pricked her finger.

A flow of crimson,
a short yelp.
Determined,
she continued.

The cut was deep,
the cut hurt.

The moment she finished throwing it all away,
she attended to the cut.
Still flowing velvet,
she washed it away.

A scar remained,
a scar unhealed.

On her journey to fill a new bottle,
she forgot about her scar.
She was so determined
to make this new glass bottle a better one.

She wanted what was best for her.
She wanted to move on.

Could she really forget about the previous bottle?
Could she simply just move on from it,
leaving no trace,
having no memory?

She knew it was impossible.
It was definitely impossible.

While hunting for new places,
in search for new sand,
she came across familiar seashells
she's seen in previous beaches.

Was it possible,
not to associate the familiarity?

Had she not moved on?
Had she not forgotten?
Was it her fault?
Should she blame herself?

What is the correct way?
What is the wrong way?

She picked up the seashell,
it was too familiar.
She noticed her scars,
it was all too familiar.

The scars never healed,
but what about her soul?

Could anything you want forgotten be forgotten?
Is there a need to move on?
Why do memories still linger?
Why can't unpleasant thoughts go away?

Memories do induce some fear,
so what do you do about those?

Do you build new memories,
to erase the fear?
Do you force yourself awake,
so that you'll never tear?

Do you create a new memory,
so that you could smile?
Do you force yourself to move on,
have an escape for a little while?




Memories are something to hold on to.
Memories can't be forgotten.
Memories define you.
Memories are you.
Memories.

Me.

--------

I found you.

Unintendedly.

----------------

M.

is something more than a feeling,
is something bigger than me,
is something I can believe in,
more than a feeling.