Thoughts are strange creatures. They don’t care about the scenery. A thought doesn’t respect the background - it cuts through everything like a draft. You can be in the harbour of Alicante or on the pavement of Váci Street, the sea can roar or the city can hum - inside you, the same background noise plays.
A person packs the same thing for every journey: themselves. And you can’t leave that at home. It won’t stay in the closet. It won’t sit in the corner saying, “I’ll wait here while you feel better somewhere else.” It comes with you. Everything else comes with it.

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And then one day you notice: you feel the same next to the sea as you do at a subway stop. That’s how much the scenery matters. The first few days you’re amazed. In the second week you just stare ahead - nothing is new. By the third month you don’t even see the environment. The body walks, but the mind wanders somewhere entirely different.
The outside world can lie to you for a few months, pretending things will get better. They won’t. It won’t fix anything - it only delays it. The thought flies off for a while, then comes back. Always comes back. Exactly where and how it left off last time.

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It doesn’t matter where you stand or where you walk. What matters is who is present inside while you’re there. Cities can change. Church towers, coastlines, lit-up streets - they’re all just background. They look good in photos, but they don’t change you in the long run.

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A fresh start doesn’t depend on the place - it depends on the person.
If there’s chaos inside, the sea won’t wash it out.
If there’s order inside, the noise of a big city won’t break it.
If something hurts inside, mountain air won’t heal it.
If you’re strong inside, even a subway underpass won’t drag you down.

 

Cities can be different - inside, everything stays the same.
That’s not bad news.
It only means this: you can change the scenery as much as you want, but you won’t lose yourself.
And the truth is, no one really wants to live in someone else’s skin.
Their own burden is enough.