I had nothing new to say for a year.
I felt I had two winters inside me, despite having lived only one.

The void is the nothing and the origin of the might, of the maybe and the possible.
The void is a hope.
A soil to remake. To honor the vanished and start anew.

Or half new. Just evolved. Which is already a lot.

It takes reconstruction after losing the sense of self.
A mostly orphaned sense, nowadays.

The losing of a place called home inside oneself
when this place was removed from the center
and became an uncanny home away from home.
That is how far I traveled from my inner self.

Ask yourself the scariest question.
Picture it. Ask it.
Clean yourself from within.
See through it.
Do not fight it.
Get your answer.
Stay there. Stay a little longer.
Still there.

And then leave.
Walk away.
It was brave.
Go ahead.

The inner landscape with the valleys and the cold nights
we all belong there.
This is human nature.

I once was removed from the comfort.
They brought me to a brighter place.
I cried.
I waited.
It took real time to understand myself.

That was the first reminder: this is life.
And to live life, life is what it takes.

The inner scar is still in the same place.
Unmoved.
A sign of the guts and the grace.

There is nothing as mundane and as common as our navel
which taught us that to live life, it is life what it takes.