I was walking like I always do, not really paying attention, just following the rhythm of steps and thoughts, letting one carry the other. There was something in my head I’d been turning over, not quite solving, but pretending I was close.

Then I turned a corner.

Nothing dramatic, just a normal street, same buildings, same kind of quiet. But something felt off. Not wrong exactly, just… unfamiliar. I slowed down a bit, looked around, trying to match what I saw with what I thought I knew.

It didn’t match.

And almost immediately, the thought I’d been holding onto slipped too. Not gone all at once, just… untied. Like a knot that wasn’t actually tight to begin with.

I stood there for a second, doing that subtle half-turn people do when they’re trying to look like they’re not lost. But I was. Not just on the street, but in my own head.

I remember thinking, “wait, what was I even trying to figure out?” which is a special kind of frustrating when you were just sure it mattered.

A line popped in, unhelpfully cheerful:
I had a plan, or so I claimed,
turned one corner… forgot the game.

I let out a small laugh, mostly at myself. It felt ridiculous, losing both direction and intention in the same movement. Efficient, in a way.

I checked my surroundings again, but they didn’t give anything back. No hint, no anchor. Just streets that could’ve been anywhere and a thought that could’ve been anything.

So I stood there a moment longer, not fixing it, not forcing it. Just… there.

Turns out confusion doesn’t rush you. It just waits, very patiently, for you to admit you have no idea where you are.