In an act of indecisiveness, I walked.

Past the whispering leaves and maroon bricked buildings. Past the vacant back patios and smoky ghosts of barbecue grills. I walked on grass. I walked on gravel. All the way to the back of the campus, snaking through the vibrant colors of the fire trail, footsteps muffled by the plush undergrowth. I didn’t know what I was looking for so I kept walking. Somewhere along the journey, I put in my earbuds and turned on music from a playlist I made years ago. When that first note blasted through the meshed openings of the rubber encased plastic, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was a paradoxical feeling, a mixture of rampant unease and shocking familiarity that gnawed at my insides.  

Walking is easy. It is purely an act of physical exertion that allowed for the mind to concentrate upon putting one foot in front of the other. I walked past furrowed bark and mottled shrubbery, past houses and trees once again. On a patch of green grass, I spun around and around, letting the world around me dissolve into a caress of blurred lines and colors. I wondered who Elton John was singing about. Who were Candy and Ronnie? I wondered if I’ll ever find my Bennie.

As the final crescendo of the song faded away, my mind eased back into reality and I waited for the forest to stop spinning.


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