Aside from the obvious, new places, new people, new sites, new smells. . . the part of traveling that I cherish the most is the nostalgic hype that seeps into my mind. Memories and thoughts of times past billow from my brain and rack the walls of my days like the tombs that line Arlington – and I stand, thoughtfully pacing, protecting, trying desperately to commit this all to memory.
There are so many rooms in this mansion of my mind. So many parts of me that go undefined. I always hated titles, and I’m a Gemini so split personalities are somehow accepted and virtuous.
The other day someone asked me how I met you. I started to tell some bullshit story about how I meet all of my boyfriends – this elaborated account of how it was summer and I was bored, there were a lot of exchanged looks and alcohol. Then I realized while parts of that may have been true, it wasn’t true at all. It was summer and I was starry eyed, but I was more than occupied and saintly sober when I first realized butterflies flutter in your stomach from more things than red wine.
You were that something I didn’t know I needed until I had.
You were that North Star on a dark night, an atlas in my bag that I didn’t even know I had until I shrugged.
And you kissed me.
And I thought
Yeah this is what I needed.