After being choked in the dark and cold city streets of Manhattan for so long, and floundering in the artificial, fabricated lifestyle of it all, I have been dying to find something beautiful. I ran away out of the country at the end of last month, seeking reprieve from the problems that plagued me, and the ghosts that haunted me in that city. However, I arrived in London to find that I had run away to someplace very much like the place I had run from. Far too close for comfort.
On J.R.R. Tolkien's birthday, I took a trip out to Oxford to pay my respects at his grave site, and explore the city where he lived for so long. As my train finally sped away from the twisted metal and smoke of the city and out onto the rolling countryside, my heart swelled. At long last, the spires of the Oxford skyline came into view, and it was so beautiful, I nearly wept. I ran off the train and through the dirty station until I reached the main street that lead into town. An uncontrollable smile spread across my face.
It was beautiful. Undeniably so. The rolling countryside seemed to seamlessly melt into this beautiful town. And it was the perfect balance of city and country. The streets were full of people, but not so thick you could not walk, and so busy they seemed dead inside. There were buildings, and businesses that thrived, but not so tall that they shielded you from the skies, and blotted out the sun. There were trees, and greenery. There was calm, and peace, and quiet, but there was life too. And it was beautiful.
It was as if a weight had at last been lifted off my shoulders. For the entire day, I didn't think about my problems from back home. I didn't think about whether or not I'd get into FIT. I didn't think about next semester at school. I didn't think about That Man. I didn't think about the man fighting to replace That Man, or any of the other men in my life who I wished would. And most importantly, I didn't feel lonely. I was alone, and I was content. I wasn't wishing anyone else was there with me, I was happy to be by myself. At long last, I had come to terms with that. My mind was as bright and clear as the sky over the countryside.
As all good things, the feeling faded as I drifted in and out of consciousness on the train ride home. The countryside was dark, and I was being whisked back to the city. I have nothing against London, really, except that it's too much like New York. And I have nothing against New York, except that it's slowly rotting my soul. But for a day, I found something beautiful. And I was happy. And perhaps that was even more beautiful.