The hopes and fears that propel mortals into a frenzy pace down the highways and byways of goal orientated destinations are sometimes just as bullshit as the thermals you see just on the horizon.
“Where are you going? ” said Frank.
“Fuck knows. But I’m not staying here.”
“But Anya, you can’t just go,” he said as his eyes searched my face. What was he looking for, anyway? I changed. There was no getting away from that.
Maybe he was looking for whatever it was that he saw in me back then. It was clear now that he never really loved me; he loved the idea of me. I had been a song that caused him to shipwreck his life. I had been blithely floated into a dream he spun out of some sleep deprived and marijuana induced haze.
But that was a long time ago and a decade of disappointment had worn me down like millennia of water worming holes through rock.
“Look, I just need to go for a bit. Need to think. You don’t let me think here. You don’t let me do anything,” I said.
Frank watched me as I stuffed my bag. The contempt I saw in his eyes only 30 minutes before was melting into watery pools of understanding. I think he knows that, even though I have to come back, I will never be here again. It was way past time and I had towed the line long enough in the name of duty and responsibility.