Sometimes, I think wanderlust isn’t for a particular place,
but for a feeling.
For an emotion, as fleeting as it may be.
It’s like being homesick for a person,
and not a building.
You know know how good it’s supposed to feel
when you’ve been away for a while,
and then you finally
fall into your own bed?
I never get that feeling
because I always love the new room,
the unfamiliar air circulating in the darkness of the night,
and the cold side of the pillow I haven’t rested on yet.
Sometimes, it’s not even a room.
It could be an open field,
under a sky of brightly lit stars.
Somewhere, you don’t even sleep at all.
Because that’s always been my favorite –
seeing how much life you can fit
into each hour of a day,
as night bleeds into morning.
And then the sunlight beckons,
for dreams while you’re awake.
And it’s a funny thing
when we try to read the mind,
of the person across the expanse of the horizon line.
And as the colors of the sunrise fade into a soft light,
all the thoughts we managed to grasp
in the slow crawl of morning,
melt together.
Until you wonder
if any of these moments,
really happened at all?


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