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It's not too far, but in the impending sunset, the sidewalk shines, a gleaming path to an unknown somewhere.
In my heart, I know that this walk can take me anywhere, although my mind knows perfectly well that it ends somewhere in the reachable distance, far before the seemingly perfect merging with the horizon.
And yet I walk, expecting to get somewhere better than where I am for the current moment.
I suppose it doesn't really matter where I saunter off to. So I stop. The perfect places are never waiting for me, somewhere along my path through life. If they want to be found, they will discover me.
The setting sun gives paper texture and depth, far deeper than the words upon it. Blinding the mindless drivers as they glance at me, a crazy teenager on the side of the road, probably scrawling some inanely shallow and pointless thing into a school book. Who knows, maybe they are not far off in their thinking.
A plane flies through the sky, oblivious to the lives beneath it. The cars drive by, oblivious to the plane above them. I suppose they would be only slightly less caring if the plane were snatched from the sky by the greedy hand of fate.
This place has changed. I gaze across the road at an over-designed house, that now takes territory of the land where I played soccer for many years as a child. I remember looking out from where I am now and being able to see water. It seems, however, that although we all notice the changes, nobody cares anymore, falling into the gaping pit of go-with-the-flow-ers.
The sun sinks further, greatening the squints of the westbound drivers, and I'm sure people looking eastward, somewhere in the world.
How odd it is, that all the people that drive by me are so amazed and confused by my sitting here to write.
Trying to make sense of it all, just as I am.
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