Finding Lostness

There is a feeling.

One which seems to scurry whenever I reach for it with words.

Yet it is familiar.

Distinguishable.

It’s that feeling I get when I’m in a new place.

When I have no idea in which direction I’m traveling or where I’ll eat or how I’ll get there.

That feeling when I can’t help but silently observe.

Observe the thousand lives I’ll never live. The friends I’ll never make. The language I’ll never speak. The street I’ll never stroll.

Each its own universe. Galaxies of stories far too vast to comprehend.

Like the speechless awe of a starry night.

A deep embrace with existential dread.

That feeling which paints the unimaginable beauty of culture onto the canvas of the mind.

Forever etched as a sacred gift.

That feeling when I realize,

I’m lost but something else is found.