Works Of Art

Think of a moment almost everyone knows.

You’re moving through your day,
but something feels slightly off — not wrong, just unfinished.
You’re doing what you’re supposed to do,
yet part of you is somewhere else.

Maybe you’re walking home after work, headphones on,
letting one song play longer than usual.
Maybe you’re scrolling without really reading,
or sitting on the edge of your bed before going to sleep,
not tired enough to stop,
not energized enough to start something new.

Wanderer feels like that space.

Not a place, and not a plan —
but the pause between one thing and the next.

The lines move the way thoughts do
when you’re half present, half drifting.
The colors behave like emotions you recognize immediately
but can’t quite explain.

Red is the residue of something that mattered —
a conversation, a pressure, a moment of intensity.
Green is the quiet instinct to keep going,
even without clarity.
Light blue is the brief relief of realizing
you don’t need answers right now —
that breathing is enough.

There’s no destination here,
because most of life doesn’t move in straight lines.
It moves in stretches, hesitations, detours.

This is the moment before change becomes visible.
Before a decision is named.
Before you can explain what you’re feeling to someone else.

The wanderer isn’t  only a character.
It’s a state many people slip into,
often without noticing:
when you’re still moving forward,
even though you don’t yet know
what you’re moving toward but you still excited what this new way will bring you.

And that’s why it feels familiar.
Because you’ve been there —
more than once.