Run it down

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I’ve thought of a story I’d like to share with you about a man
or a boy or a girl or someone else who thought they knew everything about food
or the color blue or everything there was something to know about
and then ventured out into the world in search of some problem that couldn’t be solved
or maybe it was a lost loved one
or just because the road called and when the road calls there’s always someone that has to answer
and say goodbye to not only all the warmth of home but also all the fears imbibed by being stagnant
and all the twisting lies that eventually find their way back to their creator no matter how long or how roundabout a detour must needs be taken
to mold themselves into something more than just a simple lie told in good will but told nonetheless
for no real reason other than it seemed like the easier thing to do and required less explanation
about how that friend so long ago is a friend no more and no one can figure out why
or about that one secret that always creeps its way into the journals loaded into the backpack
next to the bread and the salted ham loaded for the long journey forth
into the unknown and unseen landscapes whose features have only ever been heard in rumor
or removed from the mouth of a friend of a friend of an acquaintance and never heard or seen directly
but once the views presented themselves for evaluation they were found to be less than all they were hyped up to be and not really worth seeking out in the first place
and all those demons the traveller runs away from catch up and they’re not really demons at all
but simply the turns in the river stretched along the scene unfolding into the distance ahead
even though the memory of the distance behind is still solid and heavy like stones carefully chosen along the way and carefully placed
next to the bread and salted hams saved for the return trip that was never really hoped for but was prepared for all the same.

(dtn)

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