I've almost lost my way
to the hidden caves
and secret gardens.
I've almost lost my secrets
written in blank notebooks
about what I really thought.
I've almost lost my originality
thinking about how everyone
has already said it.
I've almost stopped caring,
about the lights in summer nights
upon wings that reminded me of snowflakes.
I've almost lost my way.
My way to happiness.
My way to real joy.
Where are they now?






