I always wondered why the concept of wanderlust
wasn’t in the diagnostic manual of a doctor’s office.
People used to tell me it was just a phase,
something I would grow out of and eventually pass by
like a stranger on a crowded street.
They’d tell me it was a noun.
It’s not a noun.
It’s a feeling.
Can you imagine
being so torn apart inside, so nostalgic, so full of desire
for places you’ve never been to
that you would leave the house at three in the morning
just to feel something other than stale air
on your skin?
Wanderlust is a disease.
It has no cure.