Going Far Away

There are nights when I want to go far away.

It is not that I have a destination in mind.
It is not the sea, the mountains, or a foreign country.
I just suddenly feel like going to a place where no one knows me.

I stand on the station platform.
Every time the departure bell rings, I am reminded of the countless trains in life that I never boarded.

What if I had chosen a different company that day?
What if I had spoken those words instead of swallowing them?
What if I could have avoided hurting someone?

Such "what ifs" cannot become tickets.
That is why people board the trains of reality.

The scenery flowing past the window looks the same no matter where I go.
There are rice fields, rivers, and the twilight slowly enveloping the town.

I thought that if I went far away, something would change.

However, the face reflected in the train window refuses to get off, no matter how far I travel.

People cannot run away from themselves.

Even so, there is meaning in travel.

A cup of coffee in an unfamiliar town.
The laughter of a child I do not know.
A railroad crossing dyed in the sunset.

Those small scenes quietly teach me that the world is still vast.

Perhaps going far away is not about increasing the distance.

It is about distancing yourself just a little from the person you were yesterday.

That slight distance can sometimes save a person.

On the train ride home, I clutch the ticket in my pocket.

My home will likely be unchanged.
My daily life, my work, and tomorrow morning will all be the same.

Even so, something invisible inside me has been quietly turned over, like a single page.

It is not because I went far away.

People travel to realize once more that there is a place to return to.