Unattached
A feather, a leaf Floating, Blowing Along a gentle breeze. Once a part of something? Possibly. A long time has passed in the drifting wind. There's no memory of belonging. Driftwood churning on endless waves, Tumultuous seas. Are there others like me? This wayward dance Results in a type of loneliness. So tired Of trying to be like everyone else. More than tired. An exhausted soul. Bone weary. But maybe Everyone's doing the same thing. Maybe everyone is trying to be Like ever