I love to be alone. I also love to walk alone. Walk where? I don't know. I don't care. Probably I walk on the roof of my home. And probably I walk on the shadowless road. And probably I walk on the milky moon beam. I don't care. I just walk. I also run sometimes, but only when I'm scared.
I see alien ships hovering over me. Ships with starry eyes, and rainbow moustaches, and clown noses. They come for me. They want me to go with them. I know everyone of them. They are me, I am them. They ask me to come back home. I want to. But I don't.
Why?
I don't know. I miss home. I want to go back. But I don't. I can, but I don't. They keep coming back. They ask me to come back. But they never try to understand me. This is my home now. This roof, this road, this milky moon beam is my road, is my way out. I want to go back home. But I also want to be free. So I don't, I don't go back. Probably I'm addicted to walking. In my home, I didn't know how to walk.
This is my home. Home is where I can walk, where I can run, where I can breathe, where I can think, where I can feel, where I can gaze up at the sky, and lie down on the grass, and die while walking, or running.
They will come back. And they will request me to come back. Go back. But I won't. I never will.
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