Compass.

Days turned quickly into weeks. I’m lost and gone and too tired to weep.
The compass that hangs around my neck doesn’t spin. It’s a reminder to not get lost or forget where I’ve been.
But I’m lost in the past, living in memories like it’s my current place, lost in these woods I’ve grown and unsure how to escape.
I’ve grown these trees too tall, too deep, I didn’t draw a map…
I never thought I’d walk open eyed into the woods where I’d set my own trap.
My compass lays loosely on my chest. My compass doesn’t spin.
The trees sway on in the winter sun rooting from my past.
Weeks in the woods–
Months in my mind–
A compass demagnitized–
I’ve got to stop wandering among the trees and focus on following the sky.

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