My sickly heart...

His inherent solitude is starting to get to him. Did he make a mistake coming here? Was his pursuit of a better life, of something different, in vain? While this journey is far from over, and his most recent blunders come at him with full force, he wonders if perhaps the universe has once again played a trick on him. Making him see things that weren't actually there. A fantasy that can never truly come to fruition. He ponders all these thoughts as he lies in bed, sick from his constant need to be in motion, and as all his nightmares slowly come true, he realises that in order to survive this, he'll have to try harder to maintain his sanity. He tries to remember her lessons - not everything has to happen in a day, and the path of a traveller has to be analysed through the eyes of those who never move an inch. This too shall pass, he whispers to himself, and as he lays his head on a pillow, he forces himself to believe that courage doesn't always have to roar; sometimes it is the quite voice, simply saying: I will try again tomorrow.