Don't Forget Me

 

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Miles and Miles...

Journal:

    To tell the truth, I was ready to give up when I first heard it.  You see, the road is a lonely place, and barring all romanticism and the poetic nature of it all, deep down, no one wants to be alone.  No one wants to face their isolation day in and day out while innumerable miles stretch onward toward an increasingly bleak horizon.  It just happens.  I used to put my promises to myself and to her on that horizon, but those promises, along with my will to go on, were deteriorating.  And then I heard it on the radio.

    There's no way for me to know if it even happened, or if it's really my imagination.  Hell, it doesn't even sound unreasonable to think that I've been driven to some specific kind of insanity, spurred on by this void, this emptiness, inside me, this insatiable yearning and lacking.  I imagine that this strange, long road can do that to someone, especially to someone like me.  But I heard it, and can still hear it, if I turn the radio on: waves of static, and what seems to be a hardly discernible name buried somewhere beneath that static, repeating and repeating.  Her name.  And it's just enough to keep me going--that hardly audible mantra which is now repeating in my head the same way it's repeating over the static, encouraging me little by little--in the hopes that, through these endless lonely hours and over these infinite miles, I'll find her.

    That's what I choose to believe, anyway.  Maybe, someday, I'll find her.

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