One day hearts grow, plans develop, new goals must rise to keep the old goals from shattering beneath bare feet and toes. Pretty faces, open souls, moonlit sleeps. A path in the woods that leads nowhere, with lovely stops along the way with fountains flowers and little rabbits sniffing the edges for lost carrots to find. Rivers three feet wide rolling under the path in marked places, song rising high into the air while painted toenails draw spirals in the sand.
Where for without thou may I be found, if thou be Ist Narram. A name placed upon a feeling felt by others, of outrage and distrust and non-acceptance. Nonsense reality without lines, without being, without dreams of new things unlike things before them, but exactly like things in their past.
And, as always, there is a path back, though it is not always wise to follow it.