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I Travelled Too Much

I travelled so much I didn’t like it anymore. But I couldn’t stop because the thought of going home was far scarier than the feeling of being unstuck.

I travelled so far that I no longer knew how I chose my destinations, that somehow everything became slightly the same. Yet always I wanted to know what was around the next bend.

I travelled to cold places even though I love the heat. I travelled to hot places even though I need to get my skin out of the sun before it resembled that of a lizard.

I travelled for so long my mind became a chasm of boundless time and space, a valley dyed purple by dwindling sunlight, streaked by dried riverbeds and paths trodden hard by my own feet.

I travelled to understand new people until I no longer understood myself. Not because I didn’t know myself but because I had changed.

I travelled to find myself but instead I lost myself to the world.

I travelled in search of paradise until I found myself in the area between the sky and sea, suspended in the clouds like a kite whose owner let go of the string.

I travelled to feel alive until it made me feel dead.

But then being still is what really kills me.

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