The Girl Who Walks

Another day after work going for a walk. For her walking is a hobby, according to the definition of the word. Although such a mundane activity may be odd to think of as a hobby, it is an interest she pursues purely for pleasure.
Others she knows enjoy reading or playing games because it is an escape from the world and from their stress. But for her, the thoughts in her head are too loud and too overwhelming to ignore. There's something about the clean air and the leaves blowing in the wind, the clouds moving over the sun, the sound of her feet on the sidewalk--that lift her thoughts from the dark place they want to drift to.
As she listens to the sounds of the city around her she wonders what it would be like to be someone else. Did other people think like her? No, she knew they didn't; so what would it be like to think like someone else, to see out of someone else's eyes. What if instead of being a middle class city girl she had been born in the country where wheat and horses surrounded her? Or what if she lived her days as a vagabond, just trying to survive? Would she have been more happy, more carefree, or was it just in her nature to worry? Probably the latter she thinks.
So worry she would; until her hair fell out and she pushed away all of those she loved. No one loves a worrier; they are exhausting. So she walks. She walks and she lets her worries be there in her head, just settling and not bothering anyone but her. Its a lonely life to be a worrier, but its who she is.
The loneliness is bearable; when others don't enjoy your company you can rationalize that it is because of them. Its when she starts to hate herself that things get nasty because you can't escape from yourself, even when walking. At least she'll always have the sun to shine on her face and make her forget the worries just for a moment.


Britter OUT.