The day dawns dull and grey. A chill in the air meets my face as I await my bus at the usual place, only to watch it drive on past me, not having seen my dark-clad figure in the dim light, I suppose. The darker colours representing a sombre mood, and I give a small sigh and pull my book out of my bag and begin the long trudge to the station.
A rude awakening at 3 am; a nightmare sears the mind, and sleep departs to return no more that night. A resolve to get up, then, and ‘do something constructive’. A futile hope, it seems. The work sits in front of me, but the knowledge will not flow. The little inner demon berates me, whipping me with my failure to remember these things that I know I know. What do you expect? It’s 3 am, and I’m being haunted by nightmares again. Give me a break.
Slowly do I amble to the station, the cold wind whipping through my hair, still damp from my shower. My eyes are fixed on my book, a distraction from the time it takes me to walk there. A distraction from the pain that quickly develops in my feet as I walk. I’ve put on weight again, lately, after losing an appreciable portion of it. I’m well aware of it; I can feel it in the effort it takes to walk, or stand up. Time to get my bike fixed, I think. Time to get myself some free-weights and start training. Again. Time to make all sorts of promises to myself, and watch as I break them one after another.
My thought fly away from the text on the page as I walk, and I find myself reading the one line, over and over again, not taking a word of it in. I dreamt of her again, earlier in the night. The girl I lost before I even had her, so very long ago, when I was a young and naive 15-year-old. I dreamt of what could have been and never was. I dreamt of happy times, of her meeting my family, seeing my sisters and my mother and even my father making a place in their hearts for her. And then the spiteful voices of hateful people, the cutting blades of rumour and gossip tore it to shreds, as it did in real life.
I randomly wandered — days, weeks, months ago — through the streets of Melbourne. And I saw her, I passed her in the street, although I don’t remember which street I walked down. She didn’t recognise me; I’ve changed since high-school. But she hasn’t. She still looks the same, as beautiful as ever. She walked with friends, and they chattered as we passed. Our eyes met… and she didn’t recognise me. But I recognised her. I’ve never forgotten her. So I walked on further. I didn’t look back. I wouldn’t let myself. I just walked, for hours on end, ignoring the pain in my feet, refusing to give into the depression which threatened to swallow me again.
And so I walked again today, on my way to school. The long, lonely march to the station, my book packed away when the first spattering squal of rain announced itself in an icy trickle down the back of my neck. Nothing to distract me, so I thought of her again, and finally, I let her go. I walked into the station, and came to school. This place of learning that I adore, full of new friends; people to whom I relate better than I have with many people in my entire life. People who share my passion. I take a look at my life, and I see what holds me back. I let her go, and I move on.
But I know that, sometime again, I’ll find myself walking around the rainy city. It’s my escape, to simply walk, and see what there is to be seen. My quiet time for relfection; a luxury Iseldom afford myself these days, but one I think I will need to do more often, lest my life swallow me and change me in ways I don’t want to be changed. So I’ll do it again, go walking around the rainy city.
What a pity there’s things to do at home.
Powered by FireStats