We lost ourselves.
Lost ourselves in the best possible way to find yourself in. Somewhere between nowhere and everywhere.
As the world came down on us, we did the only thing we could to stand out. We dusted off our hearts that lay dormant through decades. And we revved the engines of vividness once more.
These were crazy times. But at least they were ours to shape. Some cried of separation. Some finally found space to breathe. Some starved. Though all of us were thirsty for meaning. Some found their voices. Others lost theirs in the screams against oppression. Between violent streets and muzzled homes, we quietly awaited the first signs of freedom.
And in this twilight not yet ready to welcome a new dawn, we wondered: How do we want these days to be remembered? This sliver of time left scars on all of us. Someone once said to me that scars are etched memories, to remind you of what changed you for the better.
Because when I said we lost ourselves. All that was lost was a time that met its end. All that was lost, were the old ways that served few.
I look at the sky today and it's kite season. And I can’t help myself but think: “That’s us”. Unique and yet the same. Dancing in the wind, held by an invisible hand that controls the height of our flight.
But when one day my wrinkles tell better stories than my mind can recollect… I’d like to look back.
I’d like to look back and say that I shared dreams with souls who stood out. With souls who each chose their own pair of scissors, knives and claws to cut the chord. To free themselves. In order to be found somewhere, between nowhere and everywhere.
Limitless in our flights.