Strange

It's strange,
How content I've become.
Happy.
Satisfied really.
Maybe it's because I haven't been in the longest while.
It's strange,
How okay I am with not knowing what's next.
Which I must say,
Is very unlike the Raiven I've come to know.
It strange,
I must say,
How the little things can completely affect my entire demeanor
Even as I type this,
There is no set path,
And this is no set poem.

Just a girl,
And ink.