Vagabondery

We spend the morning rebooking tickets, pushing returns to further in the future. Someday we will go home, but not yet. Someday we will have a home, but not now. The Spring sun shines on us and nothing seems impossible. We have another glass of wine, have another glass of giggles. We talk of the future, and the things we see amaze us, scare us, titillate us. We are in awe of what opens up before us.

It seems somehow inevitable. We are at this point now, on this verge of a whole new tomorrow, and it seems the most obvious outcome. Had we been older when we were young, perhaps we would have known. Instead we strained and fought in our different directions, in our individual rebellions. Here we are now, and it feels like home.

Like what else would we do with our lives, but be mad, and live it?