Walking briskly through the grey tainted forest, beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, gaining momentum before they trickled down his sullen face. The pale moon was high in the sky, befriending twinkling stars that seemed to swirl around whenever he tried to find consolation in their presence. From far away, an owl hooted into the night.

He didn't have a hand to hold. Lost, yet not lost, he was confused. Knowing who he was, what year it was, and where he was were all facts that he had down. But he wasn't sure of his exact location. Then again, he knew that no one really knew of their own exact location. So, in a sense, he was only remotely lost, at least he thought, that as long as he knew himself then no problems would arise.

But in the dark forest where everything is perpetually gray, it's hard to not feel inseparable with the tall, mighty trees toppling over you, shaking their thick branches in your face. Or not to feel that the hooting owl an our away is not your own voice because it sounds crystal clear. So it is. So, no one is lost


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fancy dancing (joined over 10 years ago)
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Lost, without a hand to hold.
Prompt suggested by b23cml


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