I woke before the morning came, the room was quiet, cold and grey. I heard the city start to breathe, then watched the shadows fade away. I poured some coffee, took my coat, and walked outside without a plan. The road was waiting in the dawn, as roads have always seemed to do. I don't know where the road is going, I only know I have to go. Some roads are made for turning back, some disappear beneath the snow. And if I cannot see tomorrow, I'll take the day that's in my hands. Perhaps the road will tell me why I ever chose to leave at all. I used to think that life was found in places I had never seen. I chased the lights of distant towns, and left some good things in between. A friend once asked me where I'd go if I could live anywhere. I laughed and said, “As far as I can.” He smiled and said, “Then start by here.” I don't know where the road is going, I only know I have to go. Some roads are made for turning back, some disappear beneath the snow. And if I cannot see tomorrow, I'll take the day that's in my hands. Perhaps the road will tell me why I ever chose to leave at all. Maybe the answer isn't waiting at the end of some distant line. Maybe it's hidden in the footsteps we hardly notice at the time. I don't know where the road is going, but now I'm not afraid to know. I have the open sky above me, and I have miles beneath my feet. If I cannot see tomorrow, I'll take the day that's in my hands. The road may never tell me why — but I can choose how I carry on. The morning opened slowly, and I walked into the light. I didn't need to know the ending. It was enough to start.
