I traveled for years only to end up in this desert. Thirsty, cruel, uncertain, constantly shifting dunes. There is scorching heat, my insights are displaced, my entire existence disheveled. I try to walk or at least crawl but the sand keeps shifting, even after hours of labor I am where I landed. I struggle and shout on top of my voice to find someone who'd listen but there is nobody with the kind of ears and brains that could receive and interpret the voice that my cords are capable of producing. We are wrong. We are wrong. We can't exist together. A truck passes by, adorned with art, some poetry about a rude and indifferent beloved, a couplet about the home that's far away. This reminds me my home is lost. So I give up on the effort of walking and start looking for my home instead. I can surprisingly walk now that I have given up on it, the sand is letting me walk but I can't find my home now. I don't even remember how it looks like which makes it almost impossi...