Coming back to a familiar place you might hazard to call home, dumping all your belongings on the floor, drinking a tall glass of tap water , taking a long hot shower in your dingy little bathroom standing in your tub in which you can never lie down, all the while looking at imagery from the roads at the back of your eyelids, washing the ragged mountains and deserts , thousands of miles of beautiful nothingness off your skin , save for a sense of completion, a well written summary if you will, now that, that has been my true luxury, my one true lesson, that here in my bed surrounded by the rattling pipes that keeps us warm , I am happy, that trvelling does soothe the tormented soul, answers the questions you’ve struggled with for half an eternity (or not, depending how you see it) gives you the peace you’ve always longed for.

Here. The end of an epicness that was this trip, I lie on my side of the bed , listen to Darling breathe , and bask in being content. Somehow , somewhere among the mountains and the winding roads and the gaping sky my overly critical inner voice hushed it self. I was so small, the sky was so vast, the earth steamed and bubbled and gushed. The wind threathetened to take me over the canyons. There were people in the crevices at Devil’s Tower. A brave man carved a mountain alone. I stood under all of it, completely mesmerized , feeling completely insignificant yet strangely, serene.

It seemed to me that the need to be seen, to be loved , to be heard and appreciated , dissolved away before such magnificence, that nature didn’t care for my ego nor did it reject the notion of such, that it stood by, beautiful in its indifference as it moved oceans and formed mountains and basically stayed awesome, kind of like my perfect version of a friend.

What a trip .

What a time.

What a way to find a lost self.