Acts are sometimes the only things that can speak. It was brave of me to stay. I didn't want to stay, though, so I left. Every day began already worn out, every talk went back to the same subject, and every well-known street asked the same questions. The city I lived in was full of people, noise, and movement all the time, but I felt strangely still inside. In that quiet, the idea for the road began to form. Not as a way to get away. Not as a quest. As a place only. Loneliness is often linked to empty roads, but it's not always about not having anyone else around. The weight of unmet standards and the different sides of yourself that you see can be the problem at times.

I wanted roads that didn't need any work from me. Roads that didn't even see me and removed my mistakes. I brought light. A notebook, an extra set of clothes, and a map that I wasn't sure of. I didn't tell many people about my plans, in part because I didn't have any and in part because it felt like a strain. When you name a place, people expect things to happen there. They're worried while you're not. The engine made a sound that seemed very old when it first started. As I held on to the wheel, I remember thinking that this wasn't the start. It was a peaceful sound. There was enough time for silence to begin.