Once upon a time, I had a dream.
It was a dream set across continents, over rough waters, past mighty mountain ranges, through murky forest trails. I dreamt of travel, of a life of wandering, self-abandonment, self-isolation, self-imposed exile. I dreamt of taking what I can physically hold, and just leave where I was to go on a journey, bound for no where in particular, only following each days whims and the long road. I dreamt of lying down at night with the glorious tapestry of the Milky Way as my ceiling, the swaying grass my mattress, and the misty fog my blanket.
I dreamt the life of a sojourner, never staying long at any place, drawn almost compulsively to the road. Of meeting people one day, then leaving without a trace the next. Or perhaps next week. Perhaps a month. There would be no set rule, no permanency; just the whim, and the road.
Who knows, maybe some day I might go on such a journey.
Perhaps one day, with you...
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