Travelling has its setbacks because you are plagued with an insensate, festering emotions of longing. When you have not touched and stepped on the land of your desire, you are brimming with a pulsatile longing for the land. When you have stepped foot, breathing in the moist air, listening to the arrays of unfamiliar tongues and observing the idiosyncrasies of other cultures, you are filled with a weird tickling sensation of ecstasy and also, a lingering longing (yet again) for people you hold close and dear, for home. The process of longing never tires. For you have left indiscriminate fragmented pieces of yourself in the place you have departed and you are infused with another form of longing.
This should not have happened but it did. The traveller, held back by her companionship. I wonder how the Doctor bids farewell to his companion (heavy and laden with the possibility of never meeting them ever again, heavy and laden with the possibility that the emotions of the past would never be the same; infinite and changing)
This should not have happened but it did. The traveller, held back by her companionship. I wonder how the Doctor bids farewell to his companion (heavy and laden with the possibility of never meeting them ever again, heavy and laden with the possibility that the emotions of the past would never be the same; infinite and changing)
The thirsting for greater lands and experiences, the ever-changing longing for adventure will never cease for it will continue to transform to other indescribable longing or strands of emotion. This is the curse of wanderlust - a life afflicted by immense longing.
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