YiYi the Traveller
What would you do, if you stood where he stands?
What choice would your trembling hand make—
and what difference would it truly be?
A man walks.
Around and around a world that never asked to be understood.
He crosses battlefields where the only blood spilled is the memory of a promise.
He passes through cities whose towers are built from unanswered letters.
Villages where the well water tastes of goodbye.
He meets people—not as heroes or villains, but as mirrors.
Each handshake a question. Each turned back a sentence left unfinished.
He takes choices the way a river takes stones:
not to change the current, but to feel the weight of something real.
He travels without a map, because the only boundaries left
are the ones sewn into the lining of his own heart—
a torn seam here, a button missing there.
And still he walks.
Because this world—the one we breathe in, the one we lie in—
is not so different from his.
The same rain falls on both our windows.
The same silence waits at the end of every hurried phone call.
The Traveller might be you.
Or me.
Or the person you passed today on the street, the one who smiled just a little too slowly,
as if remembering how.
So let us begin this journey.
Let us end it together.
From today until tomorrow—
and maybe one more day after that,
the one nobody counts.
Because nobody knows what life is hiding for us.
Not even the Traveller.
Especially not him.
He only knows this:
when he reaches the next hill,
he will pause.
He will place one hand over his chest, feel the small, stubborn warmth still there,
and take one more step.
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Chapter 1 the Departer2026-04-09 17:15
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