I stood, strong as a temple arc,
against the raging wind that battled me.
For I could not let go of that was before me.
A land lost in the mist, and I merged to it.
What was my doing there?
Perhaps it was my soul, perhaps it was special.
And so it was, I realized, after moments.
I gazed upon what was before me;
the forest, the rain, the haze. All mementos.
As I was here at this very place not a decade ago,
with my native companions
who have departed from my life,
as if they were snowflakes set ablaze.
Now I stood, desolate, before this cursed place.
Could I enter this haunted forest?
This same forest that haunted us for years?
I was nostalgic, I felt sorrow,
my mind the Gordion Knot.
My war against my doubts ended,
as something, haunting yet encouraging,
whispered to my ear
"Not all those who wander are lost."
