The Way of the Wanderer
How to convey that which I know, deep within myself, to be true? Would that I could bring each of you reading these words into this head of mine, this heart of mine, feeling as one. perhaps then I could speak what words fail to describe. That home isn't home unless you're far from home. That love isn't love unless it unleashes you. That the sky is infinitely big as long as you can always see it. Do I make sense? I think not. But perhaps the peripatetic patter of these words can create some rhythm approximating the joy of feet on road, with naught but everything ahead.