Passively, I roam the streets that call my name in a different language. How many times do you need to wander a path until it becomes part of you? Novelty, nervousness, excitement. With every step I get more comfortable.
I am looking up and shrink internally. The sheer magnitude of what’s ahead petrifies me. Are you bringing the sledgehammer to get me out of this shell?
I must keep on walking, as is the law. Here I am though, waiting, in my solidified state. Tourists passing by, I am just another dusty stone figurine to them. Perhaps another memorial to some noble family, they say. Little do they know I was turned into stone by just seeing what no one else did.
I keep on trying to help myself. Past experiences made my legs stronger, I am slowly breaking off the solid crust. With every minute, I become more resolute. Strong enough to get out, too weak to prevent it from happening again. I become loose again. Part of the mass, part of the rest.
I dust myself off. Why do I have to keep looking?
“Perhaps sunglasses will help”, I mutter to myself (naively).