When I was 18, my friend offered to walk me home, but gave me a warning that it is going to be a long walk. It was a warm May night, with a soft breeze and bright full moon. We met a couple of his other friends, grabbed some beer and took what was probably the least convenient, but less walked and most secluded road home. We passed a queit grove, some cobblestone streets that didn't look like they belonged in our town at all and seemed frozen in time some 20 years ago, a gas station where we grabbed hotdogs from a dreamy cashier that was so bored she offered us a tarot reading at 3AM, a beach next to a beautiful river where all the stars seemed to reflect in the water, and it seemed like we were walking through magical locations that simply didn't exist at daytime. We talked about our past, our future, our dreams, quantum physics, meaning of love and ridiculous porn scenarious. I felt freedom, and hope, and absolute admiration for the amazing people that were with me.
If there was a heaven for me, it would be that. It would be the longest walk home. We'd never arrive there, we'd just never stop walking.