It's starting again. That dull ache that whirls in the pit of my stomach that I can feel it fester. It's a parasite and I want it out. I want this longing to be gone because I want to close my eyes and not picture neon lights.
The post-travel high is the worst. Because the nostalgia sets in and that sense of freedom from all responsibilities. For a week, I was a tourist, a stranger, a traveler in some new-found land. And it was beautiful, the way you stumble upon the perfect night with your best friends. Those nights just happen and you wake up with acceptance that it was a chance of a lifetime. So now, I lay to waste in awful memories.
This happened last year after Europe. Each night, I saw spires. Now I see neon lights and there's an anguished grip on my heart. Or it could the nicotine withdrawal. And knowing my body and it's lack of poetic license, it is probably the latter. Oh, Tokyo, take me back.
Sad reality knows that I can go back, but what would I do there? Honestly speaking, I'd be a poor sack of bones in Japan. All the responsibilities that I've shirked at home will catch up, or just pile upon me in the new city.
Tough luck, eh?
But it's ok. The ache will pass until I'm left with a scar and it will be replaced by something, some place else. Belize, 2011. I'm looking at you, kid.
No comments:
Post a Comment