Traveling is well and good, but there are moments that catch you unawares: mornings when your tea makes you cry instead of smile, late nights when family seem close & yet so far, far away. If I close my eyes just enough, my mind puts me in a quiet kitchen under dim fairy lights. Roommates carry on with their lives: one asleep, one studying, one skyping home. Me, I sit in the kitchen stillness: hands wrapped around a mug big enough for two, glasses slipping down my nose, pages of loose leaf in disarray as I organize information using hands and fingers to sign meaning from the chaos, feet tucked into fraying purple slippers that have yet to let me down.
I wrote once that quiet, misty evenings leave me wistful. I wonder now if wanderlust does the same.