I am getting cabin fever, again.
It was long ago when I learned to pack carry-on,
learned to live light and ready,
habits of goodbyes born of repetition.
This wandering is an heirloom
a legacy I can't shake,
the reason I find safety in an exit strategy,
(claustrophobic heart).
But there is something so beautiful
in belonging.
I am trying to convince myself not to run,
to find the beauty in thread-like roots, this time.
Yet I am more in love
with the way the wind feels in my hair,
the way the trees blur and beckon
than I could ever be
with you.
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