Literature
I was Lost
There was a fog in front of me,
My eyes saw no more than three inches forward.
I stumbled through the haze.
I tripped, I fell, I bled...
The days in the fog seemed endless.
But at least I wandered without hunger.
At times I would sit,
At times I would cry.
There were shades around me,
Faceless, shuffling shades.
I'd talk to them, at times,
When the emptiness grew too heavy to bear.
They never did reply.
It was never painful in the fog,
It was never dangerous,
It was simply as it was.
A place where shades shuffled,
Never seeing more than three inches ahead...
- Written by Siddhartha Chen, 10th of February 2015, for Michel-le-