A journey to nowhere, but of the self

I had set out today on a walk, in search of an adventure that was none to be found, because I had felt trapped within my room. My reasons and its details are all as found below:

I had begun my journey in an upward direction (later believed to be the West), hounded by the vaguely disquieting desire to ‘hitch-hike’.

‘Not today, at least, not right now.’

 I retorted in thought, rationalising that I’d need more time to get back from the far reaches of wherever, so that I might get back to study in time.

Nonetheless, I was zealous in my efforts to climb further up hill- my bag comfortably heavy on my back. Over and over I listed the few possessions I had brought with me; four beers, two books to read, two books to write in, two bananas, one apple, one camera, one pen and one bag of marijuana- should I make friends.

These few things were a comfort to me, and besides, I had money and many layers on. Maybe I would hitchhike after all.

After traversing a little while, my big toe grew sore- it had been for a few days now, and it, along with the rest of my digits grew terribly cold. I was glad to have settles on two pairs of socks, but it appeared to deliver little recourse. Eventually, I grew hungry, too. I had thought to have a quick drink before leaving my home, but had foolishly overlooked eating. I thought of a sandwich. I thought to find a neat green where to sit, I could consume my rations- a banana, an apple, a beer, too. I had money, I thought, food is of little concern.

The park I sat in was most pleasant- trees and green with grass with a few, scattered, wood benches and tables. All vacant except for myself and some birds and squirrels. The weather was soft; both warm from the sun and cool from the breeze that was gentle.

It was a shame it had to be located adjacent to a super-market car park.

 ‘A good place to stick up a thumb?’ I mused.

I walked in a manner most incoherent; turning up roads only to travel down them again. I allowed myself to be lured by the shimmering, glistening, architecture of churches as they shone in the sun.

I let my mind wander as I loosely heard snippets of conversation, and between this, reading signposts fleetingly with an imaginative re-wording (such as ‘Overlord Hill’), and thinking melancholy thoughts about love and the loss of it (is it sinful to do what makes you happy, even if it means breaking your own heart?). I thought about the girl I loved and intermingled these with ludicrous fancies; scenarios where I’d have orgies with beautiful women who picked me up, or the lonely wives of impotent husbands. All the more, hitchhiking grew more favourable to me- just for the stories I’d garner.

I had only been out for a couple of hours but the dark descended fast. In the emptiest parts of the twilight city, there was an atmosphere of a most wonderful calm that belied the face it wore; like the resonant hum of a predatory beasts’ slumber. I had little idea of how to get home and only an indefinite notion as to where I was headed.

Still, I trundled on.

Up and up I walked, always uphill- always against gravity. The weight of my bag had begun to make me weary- it seemed as though for every time I stopped to write, the ink that accumulated in my notepad made a drastic change and my bag would be all the heavier.

I had wanted to expand; growing tired in my room and its confines. I wanted to be clear of the city; to walk and breathe in the country again. But the city wouldn’t end. Down every road led another, and without escaping the city, I couldn’t be clear of my thoughts of Her. Her: that I had loved and felt betrayed by. All my own fault, and the city reminded me all the more of what had happened the more I tried to get away.

As I walked, growing ever more sullen, I was simply reminded of how truly lonely I had become. And, walking, I realised how tired I had really become. I wanted to escape everything viral, where word lacked truth and personality. I had wanted to become excommunicated from everyone I knew and my history. I wanted to be somewhere where it was always late spring and love flowed freely from everyone. And realising this, I became terribly sad.

Above, the colour of the sky had endeavoured to sink to the greatest depths of the abyss of the blue hue, so that, on the horizon it always looks perpetually blacker the more I walked.

Breaching the city’s limits, I inhaled heartily and digested the scents of a wholesome meal, quickly becoming light-headed with relief. I had arrived at an intersection, sober but not tired; alive but not willing. I was scared of what might be possible, how far I could or couldn’t go. I had no desire, and so, cared little for what way to go. Whether homeward or out, I couldn’t choose and feared, also, the chance that I could miss by turning away from adventure when I had only just reached its precipice.

I chose home, disappointed with myself for my cowardice, but free now to romanticise on my way about the journey that never was.