The Traveller

In a world that seeks connection, I am a traveler. I don’t belong anywhere. Forget places, buildings, or even cities for that matter. I am addressing the illusion of people that attracts all of humanity. We are intuitively drawn towards other people until we settle on the very people that feel like home. Unfortunately, I was not blessed to find my home so quickly. I am still searching.

Without question, I will always have a place in my heart for every person I’ve bonded with and for every place I have been. But I feel as if I will never be able to fit in one place.

I’m afraid of revisiting the places which encapsulate a piece of me because no matter how hollow I feel, I would rather not visit them again. The sentiment possessed within the places contains a deep longing for what was lost. I have my pieces scattered throughout. Some in writing, some in people, but most in memories.

Despite the comfort in settling down, I have come to the realization that this staticity is not merely comfort in itself. The art of being uncomfortable is genuine comfort. I want to leave my puzzle pieces everywhere because a sedentary home will never make me feel even close to half of a whole. The urge of departure and detachment will never cease to remain. I am a traveler.