The car screeches to a halt on the dusty road. The passenger's door opens and I am thrown out of it ruthlessly with my personals out on the road. I taste earth as I have tasted so many times before. Without a pause, the car steamrolls ahead. I get up and crane my neck to look as the road meets the horizon, does the car get a new passenger?
I am weary, tired and sickened by the monotone of the eventful life I have had. This latest car has given me a gash on my left cheek. It is bleeding. I don't feel like staunching it. Oddly, I have a similar looking scar, a remnant of a similar gash on my right cheek. Bemused, I roll up my sleeves, open my shirt, draw up my jeans and I can see what life has done to me. My whole body is a patchwork of scars. Some given by love, some by friendship, some by the so called "professional life" and some which I have inflicted upon myself. I pick up my belongings and walk ahead.
The road as I said is dusty. It is windy throughout the year on this road. I have been going around on this one as long as I can remember. It appears to me like one big circle, though strangely I can never find anything which I left behind or lost. The wind blows it away. Time heals the wounds.
Often however it has happened that I do find lost memories on the road. No, not trampled beneath innumerable feet which tread this path but it's the memories and people that come from behind and open like a new journey on the same road. I have been haunted by these memories and people. How can I go on with something which has given me these scars pretending to forget what happened? Yes time does heal the wounds, but the scars remain. It is so pathetic of my human nature that I tend to accept these unforgettable thorns that once were roses. And it is so much more sissy of me to feel that they actually are roses after I spend some time on this road with them. Then they speed away, they are there like a pseudo image in front of my eyes, but actually they are far away, pretending not to hear, ensnaring some new victim, despite the fact that they themselves are also the travellers of this road.
But I ain't too big a fool you know. They gave me the pain, the scars, the thorns and all they could do to hurt me. Did I just collapse and bleed to death? I have thorns to give myself, gashes to be bled, scars to be carved, smiles to be stolen, pain to be inflicted. I am not just the dust on the road to be blown away by a speeding car, no. I am a car myself, I am the wind.
I hear it, the sound of an approaching car, I wave my hand and the car stops. A beautiful young girl's driving it. I look at her wrist, scarred. I smile to myself, I have a heart to bleed!
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