Days of travel take a big variety of different experiences. Taxi drivers, expensive beer at the airport, connecting flights, strange people. Buses, minibuses, 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 do you read, what music do you listen to, what you write in the journal.
Places stay behind but memories last, even when they start fading away.
The only thing that feels true to me is changes, between places or between times. Reaching new places feels lonely and confusing, but letting go is harder. To know that I won’t come back, Won’t see the roofs of the city from the window, won’t get lost there again.
In days of travel I felt deep nostalgia to places I just left. With the time I got used to being without a home, without roots and without sentiments. Anything the exists, exists now and will go like clouds in the wind.
And oh, The places you will go.