I no longer want to. I no longer feel like it. There are paths I have walked countless times that no longer feel like mine. I am no longer willing to give up my peace in exchange for trinkets. I now recognise that mistreatment. I recognise that it leads only to loss. Have I become intelligent? No, perhaps I simply began to be honest. I am beginning to recognise my most authentic desires and to respect them.
I do not want to walk towards misery and wallow in it. Why would I need to, when it is just around the corner? I do not have to walk far to find it. Many are drawn to it because, when they return home, they feel fortunate. They feel less miserable than the misery before their eyes. They return home thinking they possess something valuable, when all they have brought back is mere, blind comparison.
But I, who recognise it everywhere, do not need to seek it out. Where finding it truly concerns me, however, and where I must acknowledge it, is within myself. I do not need to travel to the ends of the earth to keep deceiving myself. I do not need to see it in my neighbour to feel a little more fortunate. I need none of that. Those are no longer my paths.
I know the face of the miserable person well, and the delight in their gnawing insides when they see more misery outside than they believe they hold within. There are expressions my mind recognises perfectly, and they are not the ones I want on my face. They are not what I want for the cradle that rocks me. I do not want my face, the mirror of my heart, to reflect them. I prefer peaceful, carefree expressions. Those as smooth as immaculate white sheets. Freshly washed. Freshly ironed.
Let my face settle into their peace; let my hands feel their lightness! Before, I did not recognise the absence of love as clearly as I do now, nor the gentle breezes that cradled it. Now I choose to walk where nothing weighs me down, where nothing feels like a struggle. Along little paths made of candyfloss that lead me only to greater richness.