I look out into the mountain peaks, feeling like I could fly while standing by the very edge of the longest, tallest wall I had ever walked across. Geographers from england stand behind me as they continue their tiring expedition to see how long the wall really goes. They're excited.
I'm not happy.
I become mesmerized by the shining Paris lights as I stand on the top of the world's most favourite monument. A well dressed couple stand a few feet away from me, not looking at the city but into each others eyes, fully in love.
I'm not happy.
I cheer in the flowing waves of rock fans as they listen to what would become the world's most legendary concert. They're ecstatic as the wild band plays on. Celebrities would talk about it for decades, saying how it was the true rebirth of rock and roll.
I'm not happy.
I jump to see burning lights as I listen to the screams of joy while a large glowing ball drops for the 93rd time, welcoming a new century. People kiss and laugh. Thinking that there is no better place in the world. Because they are with the ones they love, people who can never be replaced, people who will live long and live strong.
I'm not happy.
It's my birthday, not that I will be celebrating, because out of all of the busy shoppers, I'm the only one who knows. I smell BBQ's and salty beaches. But they don't bring me joy. No. What does though, the one thing that could make me feel one ounce of contempt.
A thin flimsy post card. It's stained with the picture of pine trees, dirt roads, and colourful town houses. If I look closely enough I can see two large cliffs linger over the tree line. I take 5 cents out of my backpack and pay at the register. The employee hands me the card, asking, "Who ya sending it to kid?"
I look up at his kind form, a scruffy beard, a soft smile and a red Hawaiian shirt. I answer his curious question, "It's not about who I'm sending it to, it's about where I'm going."
I am hopeful.