At the end of spring, I came back home.
I spent the summer traveling to the places I knew and even dared to make my way down some new roads nearby, but everything was safe and sound.
Somehow, I lost myself in between the days, but now I see that this was the best thing that could have happened to me. It was a quiet time before the flood came and took me from the shore to let me set sail on the sea. But this is a different story.
Back home, I heard the wind, but I didn't listen. Maybe next time... (I will wait, as usual.)
At the moment, I am still trying to find the right words for the tales left to tell. Everything feels so different now. I don't even seem to remember the weather. Recovery might take a while, considering I don't know what I am recovering from.
Don't laugh at me, my clichés are always intended.
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