“Not all those who wander are lost”
There was it, the light, at the end of the shore. It was flickering in the night and it was far away. It kept on glowing and dying, coughing into existence and going back to darkness. The sea was pushing its waves on the edge of the shore, mingling with the sand and shells. The trees rustled in the cold night air, casting shadows across the ground. I walked on the wet sand, feeling the tickles of its wet particles on my feet. I was pursuing the light, the light at the end of the shore was my destination. I kept on walking, the sea would come forward for a few moments, embrace my cold feet and retreat. I wasn’t in a hurry and I didn’t mind taking my time walking. The air was crisp and cold, I shivered as the cold seeped into my very bones. The light flicked off for a second and I stopped. I waited until it came back to life but it didn’t. The dark settled heavily, more than before, like a dark matter spilled into the night. I hugged myself to feel a little warm but my hands were far too cold, it was all far too cold. I felt numb and frozen. I gazed at the sky, cloudy and moonless. No sign of the stars. I was scared, lost in the night. I lied down on my back and closed my eyes. I reached out to the very edge of the shore to feel the water on my feet. I spread out my hands with open palms and exhaled deeply. I felt the cold ground hug me, the sea teasing my feet and the air swirling an invisible vessel around me. I felt at that moment, that I was infinite, that I was one with the world. I felt like an extension of the universe, that got detached and now found its way back. I wasn’t so much lost as I am a wanderer.