Efímero

Sometimes the path turns into a universe - without beginning, without end, and without the need to explain anything. Only footsteps to the dull beat of a drum, breathing in time with hyperspace, and a head that is finally empty. Everything fades away: noise, worries, even hunger seems to be part of the journey. Just movement through the darkness, where some inner beasts watch from the bushes, and thoughts pretend to be asleep.

And let everything around be fleeting: sound, light, fatigue, the goal itself. That's the beauty of it - not running, but flying. Like the Millennium Falcon with its wookiee - forward, because you no longer know how to stop.