A night can be very beautiful. Without an unleashing of poetic verse and quotes from it's myriad great admirers running through your head, it can be. Exclusively. Just for me. Never mind you.
I almost get into the auto, but then step back. Why the routine every time? Thats why things go wrong. A routine drains out an important energy, something you need to help you run when you want to, help you rhyme when you sit down to, to help you remember why you do what you do and to make you feel good that you're doing it.
Is it only a creep or a misfit, I wonder, who walks without a destination?
Walk with a purpose, you're told.
Walk with determination, and a straight back.
Looking into the distance having set yourself a goal to reach.
Dont dawdle around, dont kill your time.
Time is money.
Get to it now, soldier.
I walked checking my pace every few steps. For once, I didn't want to reach too fast. Maybe I didnt want to reach. Or, maybe I just didnt care to reach.
Its such a beautiful night. A breeze is blowing past my face. There are bright stars up on a clear sky. The roads are empty. There is no noise of mankind. I want to record this night-silence, these chirping crickets and the sound made my insects' wings. I want to play it till its a deafening silence in my head, with room for no noise. Trees shed leaves occasionally, the leaves too falling immediately (without dawdling) onto the ground below.
The shortest path between any two points is a straight line. Its economical that way too. High speed, less time, less effort, more purpose served. Do it. Don't ask why or what's the hurry. Do we really have the time to answer stupidity like that? Haven't you learnt anything in life?
Get back to the routine. Do the same thing. They have a blissful peace. Its a bliss from the workings of the mind, or the whims of the heart. Why this hesitation? Why this second thought? Where'd it come from? Move on, you. You fell back. Now spend this life trying to catch up, and dare you ask me why again.
These statements have little place in this space.
They do not flow with the rest. They do not flow at all.
They ask to meander, or to stand still. For a Nat Geo photograph of the year? No, not even that.
They desire no crescendo towards the end, no clash of power chords to herald a glory.
They suggest a quiet fall, a quiet fade off. To be remembered may be immortality, but why want to immortalize something you dont yet know?
These 'walkways', these routines, will always be somewhere near, and climb I must. For a journey must be taken, and exclusive entries to the rides it shall take me on can be obtained only by walkway-travellers.
I only hope to get off every once in a while, so they dont see me. And get to stretch my legs a bit.