Adrian

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Hold. Take a step with your left foot, and then with your
right. Swing back the left strap of your backpack your
back is screaming at you. It’s been screaming for
years as you traversed continent after
continent looking for that thing that will set you
right. Listen as your shoulder creaks telling the
stories of all the books you’ve carried but never read.
The colour has faded now, but for that blotch of black
ink on the front. Yet the strap holds its shape and you
together. What is pressing down on the crown of your head? Is it your
father, and your father’s father, and their grandfathers, all whose
shadows will never bridge the oceans you’ve shored, but have made you
stare at the waves below, foreign waters that have kept you afloat.