cyclic behavior

I would say I’ve been unfaithful, but that would mean I was writing on some other blog and that isn’t it, that isn’t it at all. 

I always feel strange when I return, suitcases in hand. I’ve never been so far before. Is that true, exactly, or just how I feel? I can’t tell. I can’t tell if I’m returning triumphantly or with my tail between my legs, and isn’t it all subjective, after all, and don’t all my adventures take on the flavour and texture of a dream, isolated from where they took place? 

And then there are the adventures, the experiences that will always seem like dreams, no matter where one stands. 

I’m back, for whatever it’s worth, for however long it lasts – and whomever I actually am, nowdays. 

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