The Portrait of October

As I sit here in this empty motel room, walls stained red with paint that once was, I stare at the canvas bag that has accompanied me from where I started, to where I am now (somewhere near Memphis). I drove by signs for Memphis yesterday and thought about taking the exit and starting there. I watched as the exit grew nearer and nearer, but that was all I did. I drove right by it, resenting my inability to turn the wheel ever so slightly. I wonder how long the road is from here to California? Probably longer than I think. I’d like to end up there one day. A land where the sun shines through trees that reach towards the heavens. Anything would be better than the flickering fluorescent above me.

1. exaggerated or obsessive enthusiasm for or preoccupation with one thing.

I think I have this. It’s one-hundred percent self diagnosed, but I think I’m onto something. I’m preoccupied with the idea of leaving. I have no real destination in mind, just a restlessness that can’t be cured. I imagine myself being lost on a highway somewhere. I imagine no other cars for miles, just a vast expanse of road to travel down.

For now, I’ll probably end up back in the wooden desk chair I call home. Instead of being miles, and miles away from you, you’ll only be a gaze away. Sitting there in a desk chair a lot like mine.

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