In Harvard Yard

In fact 
I don't mean any
of this. 

A sweltering weekend passes in a town you did not know, but which suddenly lingers in the soles of your shoes. You traipse across the neighborhoods to new drinks, new views and you try to sort the perpetual questions in the boxes of another geographical grid. Leave city limits and land quietly in autumn winds along the coast of the Atlantic, salty air in a turmoil around your curling hair. You shiver, but your skin makes more sense in the rural patchwork, and you don't know how to ever belong in just one place, as just one person.

When she writes from India to say she puts her life entirely in the power of the pleasure principle, that adventure and madness must drive her now because nothing else seems worth the struggle and look how far it brought her anyway, you cannot help but agree. You cannot help but feel this life is too hard to not just live the hell out of it.

Perhaps you'll never belong anywhere.

You can belong everywhere, instead.