[Interim] Traveling Thoughts on the Subway.

Travel is in my blood and it is in my bones.

It is the feeling of coming home whenever I go someplace new.

It is more than my wandering heart or spirit; it is my wandering foot.

It is at once the ancestral instinct to migrate and the cultivated desire to relocate.

It is the slight sense of discomfort everywhere and overpowering sense of comfort nowhere.

It is displacement, detachment, disturbance.

It is the kinesthetic movement of the corporeal and the ephemeral disruption of the soul.

It is the search of lost time and a time for all seasons.

It is the connection with the humanity of the past and the humans of the now.

Travel is in my blood and it is in my bones.

And if it’s in yours, we will sense it in one another like a familiar scent and we will understand. We will exchange a few words, or maybe none at all, but we will be exuberant. We will rejoice because we have crossed paths with a fellow soul mate, of which we will carry on that knowledge and memory with us as we both mark our names in the sand. We hope we will cross paths again, but are nonetheless satisfied with our brief yet meaningful encounter.

Then we both say goodbye: a word we have said all too often that it has lost its significance. And without missing a step, we both keep moving, saying to ourselves,

“Travel is in her blood.”

“Travel is in his bones.”

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