Hinterland

October 5th, final entry

It's dead silent out here. No wind. No birds. No honking horns, no city bustle. Completely still, completely silent. The wheat stretches on forever. The horizon is a beautiful faded gold.

I'm sure that sounds like an over-exaggeration, but if you were here, you would believe me. You would also understand how peaceful it is, hours away from the rush of the city, the noise of the people, always in a hurry to get from here to there. Always worrying about what's going to happen, hardly giving a thought to what has.

The only building for miles is the decrepit old barn behind me. I imagine it used to be a brilliant red, with nice white trim-- like the generic barn everyone pictures. I'm sure it was beautiful back then.

The barn sits in the middle of what many would consider 'the middle of nowhere'. I don't think that's the right word. It doesn't suit it. 'The middle of nowhere' makes the barn seem useless, like it never had a reason to be out here. That's not true. I know one day it once had. It once meant something to people. To someone, at least.

So I'd rather call this kind of place the hinterland.

It needed its own name, I'd thought, and 'hinterland' suits it fine. It's got a nice ring to it, almost. Sophisticated, but a little lonely-sounding at the same time.

I'm looking back at the barn again. The red paint has faded, the white trim is cracking and peeling. It hasn't held animals in years.

Hell, the entire thing has slowly begun to collapse in on itself after all this time.

But I still think it's pretty. Maybe I only think that because I manage to find the beauty in everything. Or maybe it's because sometimes, I feel like that old barn.

Hah. Now doesn't that sound dumb.

Maybe if I explain it to you, it'll make more sense. Or maybe I'll just realize how stupid it really does sound.

The barn sits out here, in the hinterland, all on its own. No other buildings in sight. The only hint that there used to be life out here is a faded dirt road, grown over with weeds that have long since dried up and died. I like to imagine that years ago, this barn had a purpose. It wasn't just lonely; useless.

I feel like the same has happened to me. I too, used to have a purpose. At least, I'd like to think so. But then things changed, friends grew apart, people no longer needed me. I was left on my own, just like this old barn.

I started to wear down. Dilapidate. But nobody saw. They were too far gone to notice what they'd left behind. Perhaps they didn't care.

These days, it's all about having the new, losing the old. I suppose that's what happened to me. They grew tired of me, moved on to find new friends, new lovers. That's just the way things are now- I've come to accept that.

All I have is the hinterland. This barn, this wheat.

I'm reminded of that quote, "Home isn't a place, it's a feeling."

'Home' truly is a feeling, at least to me. Perhaps a myriad of other feelings, coming together to create something beautiful. I feel at home here. At ease, yet tired. Melancholy, yet peaceful and content. Reminiscent, yet not wishing to go back to what once was.

The only thing that matters now is what now is, and perhaps what will be.

What will be, however, I'll leave to those carrying on. Those who never have a shortage of friends nearby, those who will never be forgotten like I will. Like the barn was. Like many things will one day.

I'm content here. There's nothing else for me to do. I've seen what there is to see, done what there is to do.

All that's left is the end.

I think I'm ready now. Ready to be forgotten, perhaps never to be found. Nobody will look-- nobody cares. Maybe one day, somebody else will find this old barn.

Maybe they'll see the beauty in the hinterland, like I did.

Maybe.