An incurable case of wanderlust is not something I chose, just something that is. I often wish it did not afflict me. But it does. And that's the way it is. Concepts such as home and roots elude me. Oh, the words exist, and I say tangibly that I'm from here or live there, but the concepts are as fragile and hollow as a child's soap bubble on the wind. Good thing I rather like it that way, eh?
