† The Lost.

What does it mean to be lost to begin with? Having no one to claim your soul, having no one to label who who exactly are… is that what being lost is about? If I were a faceless soldier in the midst of an endless war, if I were a nameless soldier with countless bullet wounds and reopened scars, would that qualify as being lost?

The complexity of such a simple word brings confusion and clashes with clarity. I am here. I am existing. I am me. Yet, despite this, it’s as if I am trapped in this labyrinth and there is no possible exit. I’m residing in this hell that was conjured out of my own will to exile myself, to retire from reality, even for a second. I am lost. I don’t want to be found. 

Is there such a place where all things lost find each other?

I’ll remain in this stare of mind. I’ll remain trapped in my own stubborn creation. If there is such a place where lost things come together, will I finally find you then? In the realms of my imagination, in the depths of my madness, will I finally be able to prove my worth? Will I be able to hold your hands again? 

I lost you once. And I’ve been lost ever since.

prose personal

  1. jhayjhaythejetplane posted this
  1. jhayjhaythejetplane posted this