departed

I walk around for hours, my head's too heavy to carry, I keep counting the bricks on the road as I go along, keep balancing on a vertical line, following the path will guide me to sanity and back again.I see the same trees, bushes and dull houses, some tiresome folk to match, as I pass along in silence. This is not the time to doubt, the small things that are keeping me up at night will soon be forgotten instead of surpressed, as these stories of little importance and the people starring in them always become more futile after some time has past, preferrably in other surroundings. The rain has stopped falling as I was descending at similar speed. I look at my shadow covering the dirty pavement, a proof of existence, I am still here. I pass by a window and swiftly check my sideprofile, my body looks thinner than normal and I feel pleased for a minute. That feeling gets replaced with disgust fast when I look up and meet my face, I seem to have lost my clean (innocent) expression, instead I look at the dark circles under my eyes, greyish skin, the black gazing eyes look right into my gut and it frightens me. I shake it off, pretend I look good and walk, drift, ahead. I know there's only one thing left for me to do.
Leave.

I want to go soon, others may define that as 'running' away, but I am pretty sure I would walk, as running is too tiring, a heat of the moment sorta thing, something someone does when they are not really determined, which is in contrast with how I will go. I wouldn't take much stuff, just my cameras, a few pair of black jeans (do I even own other colors?) a couple of shirts, my mac book and a couple of other (bad) things to fill in the waiting 'gaps' I would be sure to encounter. I am heading to another town, another city, another country with other lives to hear about and finally a few new faces to look at. I could work as a photographer for the local papers and magazines, earn some money to buy rounds of drinks at night, polaroid film during the day, scouring the streets for hours on end looking for the next muse.

A flashback to the past I left behind, where I know the people are waiting for my return, I close my eyes and I inhale the smoke, no one would miss me if they could see my bad self living it and kicking it now. You don't understand, no one really does, just keep breathing out and in, day in day out, the same ways the same days. Without really thinking they - read: you - do what others want (no, expect) them to do, slowly turning into robotic, mechanical things who talk, Wall-E probably has more brain capacity than the average person. Fit in, smile every day and tuck in your shirts. Don't stray, don't do, don't think and don't cross the street diagonally. I need a break, or to break out, I've always managed to keep a tight lit on boredom as well as common ways. Looking out for new ways to spend my days, rare people to chat about the unfamiliar, unusual and strange things as we go along. I've learned in a short time that I am bound by my own actions, that I have absolutely no control about the future, always hitting me in the face with random difficulties,... but I am okay with that. I am not fucking afraid anymore. Whatever happens will happen when it does, so bring it on, I (think) I can take it.
In the meanwhile you can find me in your past, waiting on that corner in the middle of the night, I won't be there anymore, I have departed.