You do want something. You work and work for it. It is a gamble, and you take it. There goes your energy, and your time. And some more work. There will be weekends without fun, nights without sleep. You are driven and you go for it. The years pass and you are still going for it. Some few people know and fewer people respect you. That makes it heavier, but you are still going. Of course, there is hapiness and reward along the way. You are not -totally- masochistic. Now and then you look behind and see how long you have travelled. Now and then you look ahead and it doesn’t look as impossible as before. You meet people along the way, and they advance faster and inspire you, or they remain behind and support you. But those are exceptions, really. Most of your friends are on a most trodden path, and they don’t know or don’t get you. They still love you, and you love them back, but there is this abyss. Few of them can look into your eyes and know what’s happening. Fewer of them keep their eyes open and let you see themselves.
You suppose that such is life. It does hurt, though. You keep going.
Funnily enough, you are not going for what you thought you were going, not anymore. Whatever might be called destination has changed form, and perhaps meaning. You knew that the road would be coiled, that there would be walking in wrong directions, again and again. Such is the road you can see, that’s the one you kinda choose. Actually, you don’t even know that anymore. Did you choose this? Or were your companions and the road itself that choosed you? There are sleepless nights pondering these questions. But there are mornings, and nightfalls when the bright city can be almost seen. Not quite that bright city in the hill, but a city nonetheless.
I have smell that city when cooking what my grandmother cooked, and I have wondered if am travelling in circles. But I have also touch it in the morning skin of my love, and so I know what nobody has known, or will know. I have followed its scent for longer that I remember, and I have certainly lost it many times, and I have cried alone, certain that I have wasted my time, knowing that I will never even know where was I supposed to go, what is this despicable road that I have been given to walk ahead. And I have kept walking and -perhaps- caught the scent again.
Today I looked into the eyes of my son, who is very unlikely to read this, and I saw that city, reflected just there. I am seeing him at the gates, now that he is making a coffee for himself at my back, chit chatting some, telling me about his own travel plans, and getting ready to go to his work. And then I know that I will never be there, that I have been walking myself in vain, and perhaps I have lost all my time. But I also know that it is his. And that he will be in that city of mine, that city that I will never know, that I have desired so hard for so long, without reaching it ever.
And that is ok.
I guess I’ll walk some more today.