On Forgetting the Way Back

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From the Desk of Lord Northwood

July 14th, Some things aren't forgotten. Just... misplaced.

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I used to believe in everything.

Destiny. Fate. Psychics. Spirit guides. Numbers that meant something, feathers on the ground, dreams that were more than dreams. I used to light candles and expect answers. I used to trust the wind.

I don’t know when it changed.Not all at once. Not dramatically.Just… slowly. Like a shoreline being pulled away grain by grain until one day you look down and realize you’re standing in dry sand where there used to be tide.

People believe in all sorts of things. Some believe in God. Some believe in karma. Others believe in chaos. Some in believe in curses. Others believe in luck. Some believe in jinxes, or numbers, or stars, or bloodlines, or logic, or their ancestors. Some, well...some believe in nothing at all.

And some of us — well.Some of us are trying to remember what it felt like to believe in anything at all.

Because when you’ve wandered too far — when the thread you were following turns invisible — the cruelest part isn’t being lost. It’s remembering how it felt to be found. To wake up feeling connected to something. To feel like your thoughts meant something, your presence mattered, your pain was part of a pattern you just hadn’t deciphered yet.

And now? Now it’s like watching yourself from across the room. Autopilot. You move. You smile. You function. But the wheel won’t turn when you reach for it. You can’t even remember where the road used to go.

And still, you want to believe. That’s the sharpest part. The ache is not the absence of faith. It’s the longing for it. You’re not empty. You’re homesick.

So maybe the answer isn’t to force yourself to believe again. Maybe it’s to sit beside the part of you that still does, in secret, and let them whisper to you softly. Maybe belief doesn’t come back all at once. Maybe it’s not a thunderclap. Maybe it’s a flicker.

A moment of stillness that feels different. A sentence in a book that feels meant. A dream that feels like a hand on your shoulder. A feather. A number. A silence that answers back.

Maybe that’s all faith is. Not certainty. Just the quiet decision to try again. To reach for the wheel, even when your hands are shaking. To whisper, even when you don’t expect a reply. To say —I remember you. I haven’t given up. Please wait for me. Faithfully, Lord Nicholas Northwood