As I drift in this world, I realize I am not part of where I am. Never. I am a drifter, in a road to nowhere. I am not me. I can’t be. I can only wait, as I walk, as I drift, and try to find my place.

I don’t know where I belong. I don’t know how I ended up here. I don’t know where I go. But I know I’ll reach it someday, even if I don’t know I have done so. For now, every place is a road. Every place is a path to somewhere else, and I can’t stop, no matter what.

I lied. There is a place where I can stop. One single place. But not for long. It is my corner. My fort. My shelter. It is the only place I feel safe, and where I can truly rest. It is not big, and it has not much stuff inside, but it is mine, and it is unique in its own subtle way. But soon, the travel resumes, and I must go on. I will miss this small shelter. But I will build another one. It will look mundane, just like the previous one. But it will be different. They are always different. They are unique. They are mine, and that makes all the difference.

And as I finish this text, it is time to go back to the road. To never give up. And as life approaches me, to face it, and to never turn back.