Trained

Ride the bus early, with only the long-way commuters bumbling aboard, resigned to a life of long journeys and early mornings. They're all wearing autumn clothes and a determined frown. You realize the time may not be right for you to move back. For the first time in years, this insight does not cut deep inside your chest like it always did before. Get a brief moment alone on a train, think how you should be working but your entire being says you need to sit still in silence and see only the landscape pass by outside your window. 

An old couple in front of you discuss the towns you pass. She says, You know this town. You used to change trains here every day. He looks out and says, I did? but it does not appear to pain him. He forgets where they are going. Something about how life is short and long all at once passes by your internal field of vision, you realize you have more stories to tell now, you long for the neverending silences that the West may bring and the words that might appear with them. 

You long for things you do not know the names of, yet. 

Look at New York City apartment listings, look at houses in New Mexico, look at weather reports for any manner of worlds, 
feel nothing
but free.