The written loom

“The Road That Knew Where I Was Going”

It wasn’t exactly a trip.
It was more like a calling..
Something between forest, road, and breath..

I left Athens quietly..
The city let me go with its usual resistance..  as if it didn’t want to lose me too easily..
But I knew: something was waiting beyond..
Not a person..
Not a place..
A feeling.. A promise of hope..

I crossed the Chalkida bridge.. water below, thoughts above..
Then came Prokopi village.. The trees whispered more softly here.. As if they’d known me from before..

And that long road..

Where the light hid behind ash-grey clouds..
Where the pines bent slightly inward, like they wanted to embrace me, or whisper something only those heading toward Limni could understand..

The steering wheel was in my hands..
But the road.. seemed to carry me on its own..

Something was changing just ahead.. I could feel it..
Like a contract I had once forgotten to sign, now returning to remind me of my own name..

“Where the Water Spoke – A Fairytale for a Journey to the Lake”

I didn’t arrive..
I was received..

The sun played tug-of-war with the clouds at the pier..
Waves rippled softly..
An empty bench waited for someone’s thought..
Nearby, umbrellas, coffee cups, and strangers who smiled at me without reason..

It was one of those places where peace doesn’t ask if you deserve it.. it just arrives..

Up the hill, in a quiet garden corner, a cat slept curled in a terracotta jar beneath the shade of blooming oleander..

As if she knew: you don’t need to do anything to be blessed.. You just need to find the right place to rest..

And then — the secret lake..

Not the seaside.. The other one.. The lake of Trupi..

Hidden in rock..
Blue, impossibly blue..
Silent.. Alive..

The water shimmered like a kept promise..
The cliffs stood tall like ancient dreams..
And the sky — poured itself into the stillness..

That was the moment..
I remembered a version of myself that still believes..
The one who dares to hope without fearing the fall..

The lake spoke..
Not with words, but with presence..
And I answered:

“Yes, I’m here. And everything begins from this water.”

And the day went on..
Not rushed..
But with that quiet knowing: “I’m okay.”
Like sleeping in safety..
Like someone stroking my hair.. without having to say it.

Until the next escape…
Remember that some journeys aren’t a luxury — they are a return..
To places, to glances, to words.. But most of all, to a version of yourself.. that loves you.. without rushing..

Tatiana..