What if I keep walking towards the sea, waved on by golden grasses and past a lonely tree on a hill, dripping in acorns?

Or on a worn dirt path adorned with polished roots, into cooled air that smells of lichen, through champagne speckles of sun?

What if I keep walking over ancient cobblestones with a woolen pack on my back containing a book, a blanket, brie, and a loaf of bread?

Or by the light of the moon, in wet jeans that chafe freshly shaven crevices.

What if I keep walking away from myself but towards myself to a place where we will never meet?

Or alongside someone leaving?

What if my legs carried me across plains and over mountains, distances that erase what falls behind.

Or past cathedrals that echo sounds of times bygone.

What if I walked through the tunnel and into the light with such gusto that only my footsteps faded as I went.

What if I continue to walk but my pages stay crisp as others ink stamped edges taunt me?

Or what if I rest in the eerie smoke that cancels out the sun at noon, assuming it is safe to stay before the fires arrive.

What if I keep walking over sunflower seed casings looking for evidence of connection through a journey of disconnection.

Or feel the cotton wick my sweat with each stride as I glide under broken branches.

What if I keep walking in the direction they wanted me to, towards conditional salvation, sticky with compromises?

Or with a skip in my step, knowing there is plenty of love to go around.
What if I believe that my judgement is worthy of trust and I walk into a whole new world.