Wandering is one of my ways of escape, by never stopping the flow of things around me, I can avoid remembering the pain I carry inside me, memories not of my time wandering, but of when I layed still, when time ceased and I found true feeling, but it was as always not to last and my true feelings were clouded by misunderstanding and distrust. My saviour that I thought truly understood and accepted my sad soul. Who had empowered me and made me feel alive. Left me... alone, again. So I keep wandering keep moving on, but between moonrise and morning light when there is no where left to go and all are asleep. That is when the memories return and I even though having nowhere to go, get up and leave.
Wandering Feet by Edward Brokenpipe

Chapter 2: Wandering Feet