Not All Who Are Lost Need Directions

Have you ever stood out on a balcony, looked at the stars, and just thought, "Wow, that's pretty"? Me? Nah, not a chance. Us poets, we can't just let a starry night be a starry night. We see it, and suddenly we're philosophers, astronomers, hopeless romantics—conjuring deep meanings and lost worlds from thin air.

We can't help ourselves; you see. We can't just admire the view. We gotta chew on it, turn it over in our minds, play with it, dress it up in flowery words until sometimes it sounds like a whole different language. Maybe it's a curse, this poet thing. We see complications where others see simplicity, hidden doors where others see walls. This itch to find hidden meaning, even where there might not be any.

So here we are again, about to have another one of those deep talks under the stars. Because why enjoy a simple moment when you can dissect it until it bleeds metaphors?

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Poem:

Out on my balcony, under a summer night sky,

Stars scattered above like dreams, distant and shy.

Her hand in mine, her eyes my guide,

“I feel lost in this endless void,” I confessed.

She nods, as if she's always known,

“Could I share some of my infinite wisdom with you?” She asks smiling.

Her smile brightened the darkness,

“You're forever chasing new horizons, aren’t you?” she observed,

“Feels like you belong somewhere else, doesn’t it?”

I sigh, "You know me too well,"

Instant was our connection, back when our paths crossed,

Over coffee, swapping tales of faraway realms.

"Imagine," she whispers, a soft challenge,

“A snap of your fingers, and you would be halfway around the world.

Tell me, Would that cure how you feel,

this feeling of being somehow misplaced, out of time?"

I think it over, her words hanging in the air.

"Knowing my luck, I’d still feel the same," I admit.

She squeezes my hand, pulls me closer, maybe to silence my plea,

“Listen,” she went on,

“Don’t get so lost chasing what could be, or where you could be,

That you overlook what’s right in front of you.”

"But how?" I wonder aloud.

“How does one savor a moment slipping away so fast?”

She turns to me, her eyes reflecting the starry sky.

"Start right now," she whispers.

"Cherish this night, our endless dialogue,

Our laughter, the quiet between our words.

Let go of the need to control everything,

Live a little, don’t take life too seriously, let it swing,

Enjoy whatever this moment is."

Staring at the stars, my thoughts a wild mess of doubts and dreams,

That constant itch to be elsewhere, do something more,

Break free from the present, escape the past.

Her words, plain yet sharp, cut through the noise in my mind.

"Live a little," I repeat, tasting the words, both new and old.

"Exactly," she agrees, as a shooting star dared to interrupt the night.

"Make wishes on stars, not just plans.

Remember, happiness isn’t about arriving somewhere.

It’s found in those moments, those tiny, unexpected joys."

Holding her hand, I feel a shift within,

A breath of fresh air, easing the grip of unmet dreams.

In my quest for that perfect tomorrow, that new beginning,

I forgot the simple beauty of today,

the warmth of her touch, the twinkle of distant stars.

Silence comfortably settles around us, as the city hums beneath.

she reminds me, not all those who wander are lost;

sometimes, they’re just learning to navigate their own seas,

Finding peace not in the highs,

but in the lows of the journey too.

Breaking the silence, she points to a bright star.

"See that star up there? It burns bright, never questioning its place.

Life’s a mess, we’re all a bit lost,

a little out of time, misplaced, and that’s perfectly okay.”

"Thank you," I whisper, feeling lighter.

We sat there, two souls adrift in the infinite,

her laughter light and freeing, fills the air, like a song,

finding comfort in just being together.

"Live a little," now a mantra, not just merely advice,

a shooting star guiding me from being lost,

showing me how to embrace the messy, beautiful chaos of just being alive.

Sega