I write for you. Accidentally, of course. The words tumble out from my fingers with no real plan in mind, but there you are. In my thoughts, which transfers to my words. Which transfers to the world. The world that you live in, and I live in, but they are different worlds. Just different enough. Both full of accidents and foolish plans, foolish ideals that we hope to have play out at some point, but no real plan. Who ever has a plan?
I start in one direction and get turned around almost instantly. But maybe I like being lost. Lost means new things, and new things mean change, and change can be good. Change can be refreshing. Change means things never get stale, and I for one don't like my situations stale, only my croutons. Uncertainty is scary, but croutons are delicious. I'll take my croutons with a side of ranch, please.
Lost again, there I go. I feel like I'm in a forrest full of trees, and I can choose one to sit under, to relax, and think, but is it the right one? I'm not good at choices or decisions. You never know if you make the right choice even after weighing all the options a thousand times. Just roll the dice, let go, and hope that it works out.
Or maybe stay lost. But if you're there, somewhere, it'll be ok.