Literature

Traveling

by Matthew Wilson

 

I’ve seen so many places and heard so many tongues. I’ve marked my adventures on this map and have seemed to run out of pins. But I’m not done. I haven’t seen the world. I’ve only seen what’s close to me. But that’s not enough for me. That couldn’t be enough for anyone. Who could or would be satisfied with exploring only their own backyard? I won’t be one of those people.

I want to walk where giants once stood. In my dreams, I’ve followed the paths of Alexander and Caesar. I’ve grazed the fields where Romans camped while preparing for their conquests. I want to see the world. Every grain of sand and every blade of grass. I envision freezing my ass off atop the cliffs of Mt. Everest. To sit where the Greeks believed their Gods would rest. I’ll walk atop Mount Olympus and yell for Zeus to chase me down.

I’ll see the world and hear all tongues, I’ll be Matthew of the Path and retrace all routes. Maybe. But I’ll tell you where I won’t go. And it’s not on any map. It’s nowhere. I’ll not go nowhere. I’ll take these feet and both of these lungs and breathe the air of old Pompeii. I’ll pay respects for all the dead and traverse Vesuvius. And my legends and stories of my adventures will rain like fire from above. You’ll see.

You’ll read about me. Matthew of the Path, that’s who I’ll be. You’ll see.

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