Running (for) Free

There is one little thing that helps me when I need to take the time to think about anything: running. So I went running. And I stopped running when I got to the pier, an old, almost faded, forgotten pier where a long time ago the Nazis forgot one of their airplanes. At the end of the pier you find one of those crosses that each Spanish town and city has hidden somewhere to pay homage to those fallen in the battleground.
I was overwhelmed by the landscape. The river was running wild and silent, almost inevitably alone. On the other side of the river, the lights in the windows were beginning to sparkle, heading to different households, each of it a peculiar promise of individual agency. The remnants of those lights were sparkling over the surface of the river as well. I could not hear a sound, even if the tallest bridge crossing the river was supporting a motorway only a hundred meters from where I was staying.
This is my place, I thought unconsciously.
And I could not help it but start thinking about my father.
But whenever I think about him it is as if I am thinking no more. Some kind of static energy seizes my brain. I feel tired. I lose the control.
There was a profound meaning hovering over the place, like a foggy breeze suspended over my head. I could feel it. It was not the time for big conclusions. I could feel the cold fever in my hands. Some sort of numb electric connection was coming from the pavement right into my bare legs. Those petty shadowy mountains were crumbling into my eyes. The sea was just behind. This is my place. You belong here. You are this: the impossible horizon, the narrow perspective. You belong anywhere else, but you won’t run free until you realize you won’t be able to get rid of this. You belong here. Your roots are drowned in this river. Your whole complex (hi)story begins and finishes here, the same that it begins and finishes in a dry land many miles away. You feel the ugliness. You feel the distance. You feel the bond the same you feel the freedom.
This is my place, I thought unconsciously.
I had stopped sweating. I was getting cold. The sounds from the motorway were coming back. No ideal landscape remains so that far. So I started running again. No direction home.