Life on the Road

To a life which is both blissed and melancholied. To a mind, twisted by the best and the worst. To countless possibilities that bring death and rebirth, only to yearn for more.

There's always the desire to drive away... to leave momentarily...to live as if there is no tomorrow. Life on the road is not an escape. Rather, it is what has been aching to get free. Every second, every day, it consumes me. It shouts at my most fragile nerves, it resurfaces at every triggering moment.

I do not know what defines me anymore and how much more this hollow will fuel the drive. What is striking is to realize that I am no longer the person I thought I am, or was. I am a total stranger to myself. I despise and glorify what I see inside. But, then, do I really see inside?

I begin to wonder if this is the life on the road. It is supposed to keep me going, to go free-spirited, unattached and unbroken, yet still lured by that drive which defines this wandering. It should make me a lot more wiser. At the end of the trip, I only see a boy who never learns the tricks of the road.

"To more crazy venture beneath the skies", as my favorite author, Jack Kerouac, puts it. To the way of the Beats, and the passion that burns. But first, I have to be on the road once again, and, as the car heads nowhere along that moonlit, deserted road, I can only wish for the cold winds to take the withered soul away.