ROAM

I am writing this letter, but who am I writing it to? Is it me, or is it you? Ever since I went missing in the darkness of the woods, it is getting harder to understand what we would, could, and should do. Hey god, we have not spoken in years, but who made who

There is a stream close by. I'm going to lay down my tired head, make my bed on the leaves on the ground, and dream of those million promises of the places that hold the faces that I missed, loved, and lost, but I'm thankful I'm not dead yet I feel as I am and maybe this sleep will help me forget.

Who am I writing this letter to? There are too many damn versions of me. There are many of you. All I know is this no damn love letter, so it will not be being sealed with a kiss. I'm not lost, so it is not a call to help.

The wolves are calling me back home to where I belong. They sent me a message saying once again you need to learn how to roam. And get lost now once and again. It would be best to return home to your forever friends, for you have an untamed spirit, so you must roam free.