Carrying my…

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Carrying my moderately heavy and slightly overstuffed bag through the streets while dodging the vacant vessels of skin and bones is making a small bead of sweat form on my brow and a tiny ember of rage grow in the pit of my stomach. Everywhere seems like uphill right now and at that moment I remind myself of what I’m headed towards. Holding a rock in one hand and pushing against a hard place with the other, I’m walking towards a tiny hidden locker of uncertainty and half-truths. A place that’s cozy and warm but cut off from the world I know and should be a part of. The combination of pushing two worlds away from each other along with my mind and heart splitting apart is bringing me excruciating inner pain. The hot sweat gathering where my duffel rubs and rests on my back is becoming uncomfortable and annoying so I shift the strap further across my collar and skip a bit to jostle the bag into a new position.

I crest what seems like a hill but is likely my mind coming to ease as I generally get a hold of some calmness and map out my route through the narrow streets. I have this odd urge to always walk what seems the quickest way from A to B and this probably attributes to many of my lapses of ‘walk-rage’ but I’ve also found that the rhythmic roll of electronic drums and square base bring me comfort and pace in my strides. The only distraction from my auditory blinders is the clattering bell of the tram as it warns me only a few meters away of its imminent monstrous approach. A flash in my mind occurs on the validity of the brakes on the old rusty car hauling by me. I can almost hear each individual bolt, screw and rivet creak and bend as it whittles its corroded self down to slivers wondrously holding the carriage together in a cacophony of shuttering scrap metal. Perhaps the heap would crumble around me if it were ever to attempt to run me down. Sometimes I silently thank the mayhem of the outside world for butting into my stream of conscious white noise and reminding of where I need to turn.

I’m at your street and heading down towards your flat. It’s mere meters from the corner and as I step up to the main entrance door downstairs and ring the bell I am overcome with nervousness and anxiety. After a few seconds I am buzzed in and as my spirited strides carry me up the lung-burning stairs to the top floor I hear the chink of the door lock open followed by only the sound of my boots dusty heels pushing off of each stair in time to the light hiss of drum beats emanating from my earphones resting around my neck. I’m rounding the last mezzanine to your apartment and as I come to the door I’m looking up at you, your face alight with joy and excitement along with a sense of relief that I’m finally there. Nothing makes me feel more welcome, more expected and more needed. All residual negativity melts away from my tired soul and I say hello, kiss your cheeks and then embrace you kissing your warm neck and smelling your soft skin. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed this place and this feeling. But no longer. I am finally home…

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