Comforts of Home

...and yet, here's the thing. In the midst of all the madness, the travels, the itching blood in my veins and my desire to always run, run run... When I see those pictures, of people buying houses, trudging around woodsy yards in muddy boots, lighting fires and growing their bellies, I think that must be the meaning of it all. If only I could insert myself into that space, would not my blood flow a little softer, my lungs breathe a little warmer, my heart sleep a litte sounder?

I know this may all be yet another spot of green grass, just out of reach and thus pleasantly possible to idealize. But that doesn't make it burn any less bright, in my imagination.