where do you want to go?

February 21, 2010

The wooden bench in front of us? The ice cream shop a few steps ahead? The park of dry leaves and brownish pond? The cafetaria where we can order a glass of orange juice or two? The zoo with all the noisy lost children? The pet shop at nearby mall so you can cuddle the dogs that will never be at the zoo? The cinema upstairs, studio one, near the aisle, at fifteen past two? The traffic light under the bridge, so we can go left or right or never even turn? The long and winding highway at the night, silent except the soft Nat King Cole playing over the car’s stereo? The almost-empty rest area to stretch our weary legs (it’s a pity they don’t have proper places to relieve a weary soul)? The city where we were born? The street where we unknowingly pass each other, two or three times every year? The bookstore where we used to read comic books, at different time, at different term? The museum that both you and I never visit (maybe Marine Museum, I haven’t visited that one)? The faraway mountain we see every morning when the sky is clear? The same sky we cross a few times a year to different cities and lands? Cities too far for sky to be crossed? Somewhere near, somewhere far, somewhere nowhere?

We’re here in our own bed, laying down motionless for a bit too long.
Bags packed. Destination set. Tickets bought. Round-trip.
We  might be saying goodbye soon.
I might say “don’t go”. I might say “see you”.
You might say “see you”. You might say nothing.
We might cancel the trip. We might disappear in the morning.

If we’re really going, I don’t care when and where we could meet.
I don’t even care about the meaning of “we” and “meet”.
(because I don’t know things I care that you also care)

All I care is where do you want to go,
fellow traveller?

So I can say “take care”.

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