Some distances best not be measured.
I walk the same path every day,
constantly juggling between paradoxical commands of
following railway tracks and steering clear of them,
hoping to find a new pothole to jump over,
a fresh puddle to hop into,
and a by road to discover something new.
But my daily adventures are limited
to the same 1.2 kilometers from home to work and back.
I watch trains walk besides me,
watch them halt briefly at the station,
and run away the first chance they get,
following the same path every day,
without any puddles and secret passages to disappear into.
Sometimes, I wonder
if these trains too would like to run away from it all,
to turn right instead of left for a change,
and reach the other side of the world hiding one decision away.
It takes 327 steps for me to buy a ticket,
reach the platform,
and wait for the train.
I know, because I have spent too many quiet mornings
perfecting my anticipation away from monotony,
always coming to halt at the 327th step,
only to turn back around.
It takes 327 steps to stand in front of a train,
328 to board one,
but the distance between these two
is too far for my legs to casually stretch into.
So maybe, like I said,
some distances are best not measured.