Drifting yet Still....
In the heart of the fast-moving city traffic, the man stands still—a small, silent island amidst a sea of faces rushing past. He’s neither at the start nor the end of this endless flow, though perhaps such things cannot truly be defined. He is simply there, in the middle of a journey, one step at a time, being carried somewhere. Somewhere far from where he is now.
And yet, as stories unfold and end around him, as the world of men moves and gods remain silent, his thoughts are not tethered to himself, nor to anything at all. In those rare moments of loneliness—or perhaps of emptiness—he slips into a space where even his own existence feels like a distant echo. He feels happiness, or so he believes. He tells himself it is his choice, though deep down he knows that not all choices are his to make.
Among the strangers who weave their paths around him, he waits. Not for something grand, nor for something ordinary—just for the next step. A step that could begin a new story or mark the end of another, one that might anchor him to something real or release him entirely to the currents of the unknown.
In this stillness, he carries no object or memory to ground him. Perhaps he carries nothing at all. Or perhaps, unknowingly, he carries everything—his hopes, fears, and the countless stories he has yet to live or let go.
And so he waits. Not knowing whether the step he’s about to take will matter to the world, or only to himself. But he waits.
