steps

I walk the streets of Japan
'til I get lost
'cause it doesn't remind me
of anything

I like to walk.

In the morning as sun strikes my eyes and my quads grunt against the incline of the hill. A song plays in my head, something inappropriately peppy for this time of day, and I think that perhaps the sun will make everything warmer later -- less sharp -- less inevitable.

I like to walk in the afternoon -- almost a run, really -- here, there, towards, away, rushing, thinking, scarce attention to a raindrop or a crack in the sky. Someone calls my name and I blink and wave. I walk quickly although I am not always late. On crutches, in leg braces, with foot boots to protect broken bones, I pass people. People with two solid legs and a leisurely gait. In the snow. How is that?

I prefer to walk at night, looking for cracks in the sidewalk and keeping my mind on the stars. I imagine myself flipping down this cement aisle. Sometimes I want to break into a run. No reason at all.

I let myself walk right now.

Sometimes I hear music. Often I imagine conversations. I wonder what you're doing beyond the hills.

I do not want to keep up with someone else's pace. Sometimes I call people. Multitasking, if you will, panting a bit as I turn corners and move up and down.

But I prefer to walk alone, even though I am not walking towards someone. I do not need you as a goal. I have enough myself. I am getting there, you see, moving from this one to the next. On my own.