The Erased Map
Its lines are washed away by the rain of time.
The straight road turns into a winding river,
Flowing without promise to meet the ocean.
Reading the stars in the clear sky.
Sometimes, our steps sink into restless sand,
Sometimes, lifted by the wind of fragile dreams.
There lies a seed of wonder,
Like a tree growing
From the silent crevices of the rocks.
Because loss itself is a teacher,
And every trail lost in the bushes
Leads you to the horizon.
fall, get up, and step again,
because what gives meaning to the journey
is not the end, but the story carved along the way.