The fantasy of a traveller trapping himself

The lure of the world emerges in office cubicles, in college libraries, in dorm rooms full of monotony; it wakens from restless sleep and prevents the writing of final papers, steals joy from weekend binge-drinking and turns familiar faces into strange speakers. The urge to wander takes hold quickly but manifests itself slowly. The window at your library carrel becomes smaller each day, the world outside shrinks to the size of a postcard and you can’t focus on the next point that you should include in your exam paper.

Library research moves from class-work to a quest for tales of ancient travellers, many who travelled to where you were born and where you grew up, many from so long ago that their quaint ideals are often laughable. But these words etched into the moth-eaten pages, yellowed by the breath of time, still swirl before your eyes. To go where all have been yet to see what none have set eyes upon, hear ephemeral sounds and smell whiffs lost seconds after they emerged from hidden corners of the ground.

To dream, dream of walking forever, looking to infinity, waking to new things and remembering it all, letting the imagination twist into reality for once.