I could go on a holiday. But I could stay away.
I would leave my guide behind, scratching his head saying, “that’s a crazy guy, that guy”.
There’s be loose pebbles on the ground. There’s be snow on the side of the road, occasionally a local would go by on a motorbike not looking at me twice.
I’d ignore the frantic emails of my mother.
I’d stare at the clouds as they passed behind the mountain, I’d watch as the hours clicked by. Me, sitting still.
I’d get to a new country, confident in my ability to get through, not knowing how I arrived.
What if I just kept walking?