Listen, I ache for adventures.
I ache not because my feet are tired from miles & miles of walking, but I ache because I don’t feel the soft breeze of the wind whenever I run from excitement because I’d be going to another wonderful destination. Whenever I hear “c’mon. Pack your stuff. We’ll be going somewhere” I instantly jump & get whatever I can get. And if ever we get there within, I don’t know, like 3 hours, I’d manage to stay awake through the whole drive, listening to some songs that wake my imagination, and appreciate the beauty of every single thing I see. With the palm trees that dominate the sky whenever I look up, with the wide road, and with the cars simply rushing to get to where they want to be. And always, when I get to our destination, my feet wanders through the whole place, not looking for any flaws and criticizing them, but instead looking at its flaws and appreciating them. As if it was mine.
Little did I know that the feet is not the only thing that wanders.
My heart instantly (and figuratively) attaches to the place, and suddenly, I’m in love with the way it stands on the ground, and the way its colors coordinate with each other. Silly how I can fall in love with a place.
But I do.
And I leave them.
Because I needed to, I guess.
And if ever I come back to that place, it’s suddenly different.
It’s not the same place I fell in love with. Like every piece of it is unfamiliar, like I never knew them once.
It’s not that I fell out of love with the place, no. I was just gone for too long, and things changed, and I wasn’t aware.
Or maybe I never even loved the place. Maybe I thought I did, because I’m a wanderer, and I’m supposed to love new things as I strive for more.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe I was just a little lost.