Alone

I was alone. Walking. What else is there? Details, details…they won’t be there tomorrow. I was alone. I am alone now. Walking up this hill, late at night, and all alone. I’ve been alone for some time now, walking (more like running) away from whatever’s behind me. Tonight won’t last forever, but it’ll happen again. I’ll make sure of it. Come to think of it, I’m not running from what’s behind me, it’s what’s in front of me. Being vague feels so reassuring, but I’ll stop.

I’m running from tomorrow. I used to live there, you know. Maybe I still do, but I’ve stopped checking. Tomorrow always gets me, though, it always comes and it always will come. Oh well. The slower I walk, the longer this walk will take. Look around. Wow. Of all the times I’ve stood here, the view never looked so clear. A city, shrouded in darkness, with hundreds of tiny rebellions against the night. It’s like a light show. It won’t be there tomorrow, just a haze and a dream. A memory. Tomorrow always sees to those. Tomorrow always takes today from me. I want to be here, but I want to be here now. Tomorrow will take me so far away from here. Maybe I won’t come back.

Fear can ruin this moment if there’s too much, but I think I’m ok. The wind blows it away. How can fear live in a moment like this, here on this hill, in this night, in this peace. This peace that won’t be there tomorrow. I’d better keep walking (running).

It’s a game, really. How many steps, how many thoughts, how many feelings, can I get in before tomorrow. Think back. Have I ever made any? Were there ever any steps, or thoughts, or feelings? I know there were. I just can’t remember them. Tomorrow isn’t all-powerful. Or rather, not yet. Enough of them will take this from me as well. Unless I run.

There’s a rock up ahead, a boulder. I’ve seen this before. There’s my boulder, my trees, my marks. My mark. I’ll leave it again; where’s that piece of chalk? It’s gone, oh well. One more time, one more mark. There’re so many you can’t really count them. My mark has failed me. Now I’ll never know how many times it’s really been. I should find a new boulder. I thought my mark would help fight tomorrow, but it came anyway. Time to keep walking.

I’m getting cold. Time to go home. I used to be sad when I had to go. Not anymore. What use is sadness at a time like this? I’ll have plenty of times to be sad later, but not here, not now. It ruins the moment. Still, I can’t help but miss these walks. Soon I’ll be alone again, just like always. I’ve always felt alone when I go back. Out here, with nobody around, I’m by myself. Myself never comes home from the woods, and when he does he doesn’t stay for long. He’s the only one tomorrow can’t get at. It changes him, but it can’t make him go away. He’ll always be back. It’s getting brighter. There he goes. I don’t feel like a long goodbye tonight.

I think I’ll come back sometime.