Oh, the Places

 Days of travel take a big variety of different experiences. Taxi drivers, expensive beer at the airport, connecting flights, strange people. Buses, minibusses, trains, ferries. Changing view out the window, sunrise, sunset, rain, clear skies, gas stations, refreshment stops. With the backpack on me, with the backpack in the baggage, with the backpack god knows where. Which book to read, what music to listen to, what to write in the journal.

Places stay behind but memories last. even when faded.

The only thing that feels true to me is changes, of places or times. Reaching somewhere new may feel lonely and confusing, but letting go is harder.

In days of travel I felt deep nostalgia to where I just left. With the time I got used to being without a home, without roots, and without sentiments. Anything that exists is now and will be gone like clouds in the wind.

And oh, the places you will go.

May Rosenblum,
No Home.

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