Destination or delay?

The train arrived without ceremony, breathing steam like an animal. David stepped inside with uncertainty, but also excitement of the travel. He was traveling east, though the direction mattered less than the distance from his former life.

It didn’t matter where he went, it only mattered that he had gone. For years, David had believed movement was a cure. New cities, new faces, new languages, each had offered a temporary relief from regret. Yet, as the train launched forward, he sensed the familiar weight returning, subtle but observable, like a question he had refused to answer.

In front of him sat an old woman, knitting. Her hands moved with deadly precision, transforming loose thread into something delightful. After a while, she looked up and said:

 "Where are you headed, young gentleman?

David hesitated. The simplest answer formed on his tongue, but it felt incomplete, even false. He looked past the woman, to the window, where his reflection appeared.

“I suppose I’m heading away,” he said at last.

The woman paused, her needles suspended mid-air.

“Away is never a destination,” she replied calmly. “It’s only a delay.”

David felt a quiet shift in his heart, as something he had buried was slowly rising to the surface. For the first time, he understood that distance alone could not resolve his problem of which he was escaping.

When the train slowed at the next station, David stood doubtfully. He met the woman’s eyes and nodded, not sure whether he was thanking her or forgiving himself.

As the doors closed behind him and the train disappeared into the horizon, David inhaled deeply. He did not know what awaited him there, but he knew that he had made the good decision.

Márton Balázs X. R