Not All Who Wander Are Found

I exist on uncertain footing,

In a landscape covered in the sands of misunderstanding,

But I exist nonetheless.

I think that I am less homesick–more simply just a mess.

I think that I am too keenly aware

That I moved to a room where I've hardly written–from another,

and there from another.

If I thought I had the resolve, I might resolve to write more.