Walking

Somewhere down the road, all the streets look the same. Walking along those streets at night always filled me with that sense of emptiness. The wind howled with the dogs in the night. The leaves on the trees whistling in the winds, spreading secrets, gossiping fervously, had nothing to say to me. I was never eavesdropping, but I knew their stories.

They wouldn't notice me walking in their shade, I was never a part of their world. I was always the outsider, who was allowed to settle in, given a room out of pity. Always in my transit from one street to another. My streets the same, but never permanent. I walked on, for that was all I knew how to do. Sometimes in circles , sometimes in a straight line so long that my feet felt they would collapse. Yet, somehow, I held on, walking ahead. Like Forrest Grump, going aimlessly in any direction until he stopped.

They only difference was my feet, like clock work, wound too many times by God’s ancient fingers, kept going on. I made friends, if you can call them that. On the way. While I walked around in my circles, my cycles synced up with theirs. Our lives intersecting repeatedly where our paths met everyday. Co-travellers, companions, so much more, yet nothing at all, really. This happened during the day.

Night on the other hand was a dark empty affair. People went home and settled down in the comfort of their beds where they belonged. Revelling in their hard earned rest. I walked, wraith like, as the very spirit of the night. I walked the roads that were never mine. I was searching for my own, maybe.

Maybe I was looking for something. Maybe I’d left something behind but forgot where and spent my entire life in circles searching for it. I try very hard to remember, but its so easy to forget. Memories get washed out in the rains, clouded like the skies that pour down. Sometimes the sun is too harsh and your photographic memory is useless, for the pictures are over-exposed and blinded white. I tried hard, but failed. So I just walk on, for walking came easy. My pace and gait varying, to suit the need of the hour, but always steadily forward.

Maybe I was striving to reach somewhere. Maybe I was going home. Maybe I was looking for you. Maybe you were looking for me. Maybe all that walking was so that I could sit across from you, look into your eyes and tell you my stories. Maybe it was so I could walk away once again, when you break my heart. My heart will beat on, damaged, out of shape. And my feet will go on, until the soreness of my soles overtakes all memory of you.

I walk at nights for, night has the hope of day break. Nights have the shining city lights, the skyline lit by construction lights. The idea of growth,and hope and the coming of something new. Nights hug you, in cold windy embraces, like a love you don't recognise. It makes you shiver. Walking at nights is the best, because eventually I walk into the sunrise. The warmth reminds me of your smile. And the six-o clock delirium of sleepless nights makes it easier to forget that I ever loved you. But soon enough day breaks, and the reality hits. And all I can do, is walk away from it.