I am vividly feeling the weight of something that is only in my head pressing against my very own being. I only get brief moments of a backwash before it hits hard again; it’s pressing.
A string of thoughts and feelings is wrapped around my neck, and my breath is shallow; the world gets darker.
I will let myself fade, slowly. And I know, eventually, I’ll be back and whole again, but not today.
Between bits of intense emotions lies a cold predominant feeling. It is quite impossible to determine its source or ascertain the cause of its existence, but it was there, growing, rising and momentarily seen through flashes of light induced by the little triggers. And now, it’s stronger than ever.
This feeling resembles a wall so high, blocking any attempt to touch and connect with what’s beyond it; and what’s beyond it, is everything… and nothing. Because maybe the wall doesn’t exist; it is not real save in your mind: you created it to make sense of this listless feeling.
Where you stand, on your side of the wall, there’s comfort; it is safe. However, the nocturnal air is anxious, and you’re thinking about the wall and what’s beyond it. The thoughts, they turn your comfort into restlessness, they yield a new lone thought: the answer lies in climbing the wall. It would be risky, not always comfortable, but it would also make you feel alive. So you climb the wall and hope for the best.
The wall may not be real but the climb is. The climb is real. And it is, in a sense, a path to new opportunities, good and bad, to everything.
I’ve always had the urge to travel, to go somewhere far. The urge used to whisper softly in my ears, but now it is screaming. I need to go past thousand of oceans and seas and beyond. I want to inhale new worlds and exhale the worlds I’ve known.
The loathsome city will be left behind. The devilish people will not be remembered. And the nights with the moon shall not find me sorrowful again. The promise of novel souls to meet, different places to see, and soft air to breathe is a breathtaking one. But most importantly, it is a promise of finding oneself again; after the gruesome loss caused by living and interacting with people without passion, compassion, or open-mindedness.
It’s making my heart uneasy, knowing that there are marvelous places I’ve not yet seen, dandy books I’ve not yet read, and amazing people I’ve not yet met. Yet.
A long journey it is going to be; and despite loving solitude, I think about company. Having someone I love with me is a fascinating possibility. Wanderlust supplemented by love is but the ultimate sanctuary.
My story is just unfolding, and I can’t wait for the journey to begin.