Finding My Way to You

Make Your Own Path

Going through the day with what feels like a hole in your chest isn't the nicest of experiences.

Not much time had passed since he woke up, but he had felt the need to walk. Hob had thought that just by that mere action, he would have been able to dispel the sentiment. He even willed himself to not go at a particularly fast pace, though some antsiness did seem to crawl in.

Trying to focus on things around him, nothing was truly able to distract him from that sensation. It just seemed that it stuck to him, haunting him since the moment he opened his eyes. The nature, the sounds, not even the people were successful in keeping his attention.

Hob had thought that any remaining feelings that were caused by his subconscious would have left after some hours went by. Little did he know, it didn't, nor did it fluctuate in intensity while pondering it. All it does is stay right where it carved itself without your knowledge, there in your heart, forcing you to have to carry it wherever you go.

It wasn't really that much of a hardship, though he hoped that its presence wasn't noticeable in his face. At least here, no entity would be able to just know what he felt, like it happened in the dream. Or as he suspected it did, he didn't trust the privacy of his own mind.

That did remind him that the feeling he had had plagued him even while inside the dreamscape, seeming to have just followed him here as well. It was as if it had integrated into himself, making it feel more real, but maybe he had been reading too much into it. It could just be that now he had the memories to accompany it.

An explanation of why it was there in the first place, even though it belonged to another. In a span of just a few hours, he had gotten to experience a life that had been lived by someone else, him borrowing the eyes of an observer to see the successions. Not only that, but he was also handed the heart of who the memories belonged to, to feel everything that was shown.

The gold that tinted the leaves may not have stained his hands, nor may the wet clothes have clung to him as he woke, but those emotions? Those did. Was it proof enough that what he experienced was real? Not at all, but it was something, and he wouldn't let it go.

Now, part of it belonged to him. Someone had graciously gifted him the experience, knowing that he could perhaps understand it better than what they could. So, he got to see this... nostalgia, one that missed what life used to be, the joy that was found within it.

And he was certain he had understood it, had seen farther than the word itself. When set to easier terms for him. nostalgia was a mixture of emotions. It wasn't just melancholy, it was happiness, remembrance, an acceptance. In a way, it was similar to how he feels when he reminisces about his past, the childhood innocence and dreams themselves.

In an odd way, this ended up motivating him, it being the reason why he found himself heading to his workplace instead of staying home on a Sunday. When normally he would be relaxing before coming back tomorrow, he had gotten rid of his procrastination, finishing his morning routine abnormally fast. Also meaning, he got to write anything he found necessary without much delay.

Having flipped his sketchbook closed, he was able to recap on what he had learned just yesterday, giving him an idea. That, plus this reminder coming from his chest made him want to research anything related to what he saw, reason why he was also walking in the first place. Hob wanted all the data possible he could find, from exploratory essays analyzing Greek culture to period facts, anything that could hint to the god of dreams.

Johanna had guided him through the beginning of this expansive world, barely scratching the tip of the iceberg. With her in mind, and with barely any breakfast in him, he decided it would be best to continue her lecture, giving her a call. He would have preferred to send her a quick text, but she tended to ignore those more often than basic calls.