I’ve been roaming around the world for as long as I remember. I’ve walked the snowy plains of the north, and I’ve swam across all the seas you know. I’ve tasted the gritty desert sands and swayed with the ancient trees in the taiga.
And still, I walk.
If I stop… No, I must keep moving.
If I stop, I’ll cease to be who I am. My existence will fade away, like the sound of a great motor gently yielding to the silence. Like a giant that can only stay upright with its own movement.
Who’s to say we’re not the same, you and I?
Sometimes I think about what I sacrifice for all of this. I’ve gained great speed, but where am I going?
Every day, I discovered something new. The world has so many secrets to share if you’re willing to listen. There I was, putting my ear to the world, eager to soak up as much as it will tell me.
I felt that going to new corners of the world made me stronger, somehow. Made me better, perhaps even wiser than I was before. I didn’t stay for long, however.
I kept moving, and I never stopped.
Would you board a train that kept gaining speed and refused to break?
And yet, I kept moving. Until I could move no more.
And now, as I stop, the world slows down with me. The maddening pace of yesterday now seems entirely false, silly even, and perhaps unnaturally constructed.
Constructed by me.
Who will whisper my name when I’m gone? Have I shared the experiences I pocketed, the sights and sounds and feelings of the places I explored? Or did I hoard it all to myself, like a swamp collects clear rainwater? All to myself, it seems.
Should I be blamed that few understood the strange language of my existence?
With my final breaths, as gentle as they may be, I now hope to paint the world I’ve seen.
Though it’s possible no one may hear me.
But even a gentle breath can be powerful to move souls.
Yet I cannot manage even that.
My own wind is gone, and the whispers I try to share are smothered by stronger winds I can’t possibly challenge.
All moving at a maddening, blinding pace, to who knows where.