The District Sleeps Alone Tonight
©Rachel C Johnson
The feeling of being lost never retreats, never goes into hiding, it is never replaced with familiarity and comfort. Once you are lost you are not found, once the feeling seeps into your soul you cannot strip yourself of the overwhelming desire to scream for the lack of words or wander for the lack of a roadmap. The sensation fills you, swarms inside of you, drowns you in the struggle between stiff legs and the urge to never stop. Never stop walking. But that is your only choice. Walk or stop, stop or walk. Stand still and wait, or wander until your feet lose feeling and your heart hungers for home. Stand still, rest, breathe, cry for the sake of frustration, and hope—hope someone will stumble upon you and carry you home. The urge to stand still is overwhelming, it taunts you to stop walking, stop thinking, to just stop. But you can’t, because the trouble with stopping is that you won’t ever get farther than where you are—eventually you’ll have to start walking, eventually you’ll have to keep moving to stay alive.
Stay alive—stay alive you must. The emotions of being lost, of never finding your way home, are gateway drugs. They lead you onto a path of overwhelming depression, a path of unworthiness. How bad do you want to stop, how bad do you want to let the ache in your feet subside? Kill the pain only to stand again; it’s pointless to even try. Unfortunately, walking does very little for the mind but to fill it with unspeakable thoughts. Walking alone in the dark you cannot speak, you cannot say what is on your mind—but maybe for a whisper of frustration, and mumble of your deepest aggression. The situation worsens as your head dives deeper into itself, as your mind closes off. You focus on your anger—you become bitter. Bitter at map which led you wrong, bitter at street signs that have become difficult to read with tired eyes, bitter at the road beneath your aching feet, you’re so angry with the road. Bitterness seeps into your heart and turns it cold against the world. Thoughts creep in, conspiring against the sleeping citizens, so humble in their homes while you wander the streets alone. You’re unwanted, banished into the night, no one in these houses wants you, no one will come out and guide you. You’re lost, you’re disappearing. As you wander further, all the anger is lost. There is not point, this far from home, this dark of night. All you want is to stop wandering. All you want is to stop feeling so lost. To not exist for the sake of no more pain. The trouble with nonexistence is that when you want to exist again...you can’t.
And so you walk; and so you walk. Because life cannot end while there is still so much road to cover, life cannot die when you’re halfway home. The idea of never finding your way, the fear of being on these roads forever will haunt you with every step. But, you must remember there is one more corner to turn, one more street sign up ahead, one more chance before the dawn, when someone might emerge to find you wandering your way home.
May 18, 2007
Author's Note: possibly a little cliche, but necessary.
I am Finally Seeing Why I was the One Worth Leaving.
The feeling of being lost never retreats, never goes into hiding, it is never replaced with familiarity and comfort. Once you are lost you are not found, once the feeling seeps into your soul you cannot strip yourself of the overwhelming desire to scream for the lack of words or wander for the lack of a roadmap. The sensation fills you, swarms inside of you, drowns you in the struggle between stiff legs and the urge to never stop. Never stop walking. But that is your only choice. Walk or stop, stop or walk. Stand still and wait, or wander until your feet lose feeling and your heart hungers for home. Stand still, rest, breathe, cry for the sake of frustration, and hope—hope someone will stumble upon you and carry you home. The urge to stand still is overwhelming, it taunts you to stop walking, stop thinking, to just stop. But you can’t, because the trouble with stopping is that you won’t ever get farther than where you are—eventually you’ll have to start walking, eventually you’ll have to keep moving to stay alive.
Stay alive—stay alive you must. The emotions of being lost, of never finding your way home, are gateway drugs. They lead you onto a path of overwhelming depression, a path of unworthiness. How bad do you want to stop, how bad do you want to let the ache in your feet subside? Kill the pain only to stand again; it’s pointless to even try. Unfortunately, walking does very little for the mind but to fill it with unspeakable thoughts. Walking alone in the dark you cannot speak, you cannot say what is on your mind—but maybe for a whisper of frustration, and mumble of your deepest aggression. The situation worsens as your head dives deeper into itself, as your mind closes off. You focus on your anger—you become bitter. Bitter at map which led you wrong, bitter at street signs that have become difficult to read with tired eyes, bitter at the road beneath your aching feet, you’re so angry with the road. Bitterness seeps into your heart and turns it cold against the world. Thoughts creep in, conspiring against the sleeping citizens, so humble in their homes while you wander the streets alone. You’re unwanted, banished into the night, no one in these houses wants you, no one will come out and guide you. You’re lost, you’re disappearing. As you wander further, all the anger is lost. There is not point, this far from home, this dark of night. All you want is to stop wandering. All you want is to stop feeling so lost. To not exist for the sake of no more pain. The trouble with nonexistence is that when you want to exist again...you can’t.
And so you walk; and so you walk. Because life cannot end while there is still so much road to cover, life cannot die when you’re halfway home. The idea of never finding your way, the fear of being on these roads forever will haunt you with every step. But, you must remember there is one more corner to turn, one more street sign up ahead, one more chance before the dawn, when someone might emerge to find you wandering your way home.
May 18, 2007
Author's Note: possibly a little cliche, but necessary.
I am Finally Seeing Why I was the One Worth Leaving.
2 comments:
You are echoing my soul here.
--Andie
I do my best.
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