After weeks of an overwhelmingly indifferent attitude and a consistent roller coaster ride of serotonin fueling my emotions, I am so deeply in need of a journey. Not the kind of journey that takes you on a tropical themed cruise to Alaska (complete with hula dancing polar bears), but rather, I want to step out through this murky vapid trance-like fog, into a world of lush effervescent mountains and overwhelmingly high thrills.
No more will I be satisfied with serendipitous hikes through flower breeding countryside, no...I need to run pellmell through sheets of rain, ever thirsty for the adventure that will meet me on the other side. I am longing for a place, for a person, a community, to call home.
I am not searching for a vacation, I am searching for the land where my heart can finally rest.
Somewhere that knows I love strong wind, fresh uncut paths, and the bright smell of cut mint.
A place/person/thought/love that knows that I am only as strong as any tree that can be broken by my gait, and as prone to curiosity as young ducks are to falling on their heads.
I need a home that can see through my deep mistrust and ever so broken heart.
But where? Where is my home? Does one find this mindset in the damp uncharted forests of countries longed to walk? Or has the place always existed, in the shadows of my heart?
I doubt that.
Never before have I needed someone to know me. Not in a silly understanding kind of way, but in the way that feels my heart for blowing dandelion's petals and cupping hot drier lint...and that when nothing else will cheer me up, a John Cusack movie probably will. There's something about the security in a home that knows you will always love tomato soup, power berries, plantains, and pomegranates (although not necessarily together).
Maybe my home is in Madagascar, or maybe that's just where my life begins, but either way, I'm still longing to go...
until next time...to Madagascar! & to home.
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