On an autumn morning, leaves dance in the wind

On an autumn morning, leaves dance in the wind, Wandering thoughts embrace my lost and sacred soul, A stranger in my own skin, an actor without a script, I search in the mirror for a face, only shadows of an ephemeral dream. It's strange how consciousness weaves meaning with need, Like a river seeking its source, deep in the valley of existence, Ever further, never finding its finish line, I wonder if being human means living in questions, Answers that do not ask to arise, just melancholic smiles, Hidden among silent tears and stars without constellations. It's a never-ending story, a journey through the soul's labyrinth, Echoes of thoughts tell the tale, without beginning, without end, Just a play of shadows and lights, in which I lose and find myself, Like a wind whispering through branches, carrying a scent of nostalgia, The desire to know the essence of what I am, a dream that never fades. Perhaps in the endless search lies the essence of humanity, A mystery revealed when you accept that answers, Are just deeper questions, the beauty of life, In the continuous search, hearts beating in unison with the universe, In that secret and sweet melancholy that makes us feel alive.