Before I go home, knowing my complex definition has been altered by erstwhile thieves and anxious lovers (absolutely one in the same), let me speak. Let me speak. No, at 3 o’clock in the morning, let me whisper bygone intentions I once believed, or was fooled into believing. I am a fool; not an imbecile: a difference not greater than thieves or lovers. It’s a theory that will keep me awake well into the night.
We are what we carry. Impulse, obligation, and instinct pull us through the days, across borders and unfamiliar footpaths. Step wisely and know you have what you need. Pack lightly; too much baggage will deter the enjoyment and hold you back. Wanderlust should not be contained.