[ IP ] The Long Road

I ’ d been walking for as long as I could remember. I don ’ t remember beginning my journey, and I certainly don ’ t remember why I was walking. All I know is that I ’ ve been walking for a very long time. 
 
 I turned around and looked back at the road I ’ d travelled so far, and I looked ahead of me at the road I still needed to walk. They outstretched both ways, endless and tired. 
 
 I could see nothing behind me but barren wasteland, and I could see nothing but the same in front of me. The dried up soil and hot sun, taunting me. 
 
 I brought my hands to my face. A straggly beard, and skin like sand paper replaced what was once the smooth, confident face of a man ready for adventure. 
 
 My eyes felt tired, but I continued to walk. It was all I could do. 
 
 I thought about the journey I ’ d had so far. It was uneventful and long. It dragged on like the humming of a car motor that was no longer in sight but still echoing from miles away. 
 
 I never wondered why I was walking, it seemed pointless. I could stop walking and try to figure it out, or I could forget it and keep going forward. So that ’ s what I did. The longer I stopped to worry about it, the longer it would take me to get wherever it was I was going. 
 
 I don ’ t remember embarking on my walk, or anything before it, but I remember being younger. I remember taking strides that were as long as I could make them, and as confident as I was. I didn ’ t know where I was going but hell, would I get there. The sun was rising as I walked. 
 
 I remember the first time I passed another person. I didn ’ t see their face or talk to them. I just saw them standing off the road, facing away from me. It was a woman. I looked, but I didn ’ t want to waste time trying to find out who it was or what they were doing. I just continued on my walk. 
 
 I remember realizing that I was alone on my walk for the first time. The hair on my face turned from stubble to more than that as I contemplated my solitude. I wondered if I ’ d see any more people on my walk, or if the girl I walked by, too focused on myself, would be it. 
 
 I remember being afraid. What if something happened to me before I got to the end? Who would tell my tale, continue my legacy, who would continue my walk? No one. That ’ s who. 
 
 That was before, and those were a young man ’ s worries. When the sun was high in the sky, symbolizing a turning point. 
 
 I walk more slowly now, with shorter strides, breathing in the dry air and letting it stay in my lungs for some time before I exhaled. 
 
 I wonder what will happen when I reach the end of my walk. Will I know it ’ s ended, or will it just be over before I had a moment to reflect? What will happen to me, all of my steps I ’ ve accumulated over the years, where will they go and what were they worth? 
 
 The sun has hung low in the sky now for quite some time and for the first time blue is turning to deep purples. Are those stars I see, piercing the forever empty sky that has kept me covered for all these years? 
 
 For the first time in my entire journey, I can see something in the distance. 
 
 It ’ s not like I thought it would be. As I walk towards it I start to have visions. 
 
 I see a baby, a boy, eating a cake with two loving parents around him. The woman behind him whipes cake off of his face with a bright pink hanky. 
 
 I see a teenager graduating high school. He looks so happy. Black hair slicked back, not a hair on his chin. 
 I see a girl with him now, she looked familiar. Her eyes were the color of the sky that had kept me company on my walk. She was laughing with the boy, who was more of a man now. 
 
 I see the boy now, running with his friends through busy streets humming with voices and cars. I see him strolling along through quiet woods. 
 I see him leave things that made him happy behind for trivial things, work and money. I see him crying alone. Where did the girl go? He wasn ’ t in the forest anymore, or laughing with his friends. 
 
 I see him wearing all black, standing outside by a grave stone. People are putting their hands on his back, rubbing his arm as they leave him. He stands there long after everyone has gone. He cries alone, holding a hanky that looks like it used to be pink. 
 
 I see a man at a desk wearing a tie. He grimaced as he checked his watch. He was in a cubicle, among countless others. 
 
 I see a man at home on Christmas Eve alone, watching movies that reminded him of his mother while he pet his golden retriever. 
 
 I see a man crying outside. He ’ s near a forest and there ’ s a pile of dirt in front of him. He ’ s holding a leash with nothing attached to it. 
 
 I see an old man sitting on a bench feeding birds, a newspaper beside him. He looks like he ’ d rather be anywhere than where he was. 
 
 I see an old man walking down an endless road, reaching the end finally. 
 
 It isn ’ t pearly white gates, or a pit of fire either. 
 
 He is young again, he runs into his mother ’ s arms and he knows his walk is over. She hands him a leash with a dog tied to it, and he finally isn ’ t alone anymore. 

