Travelling Blues

It’s Tuesday 7 am,

there’s a tingle in my belly.

A missing heartbeat.

I’m restless.

I always am when I’m travelling.

My flight leaves at midnight.

What’s the point of doing anything

I’m travelling.

I meditate.

I run.

It’s still only 11.25 am.

I’m still restless.

I try to read.

I try to write.

What’s the point of doing anything

I’m travelling.

Enough is enough.

I face myself.

What am I worried about?

I’m going to London not

Baghdad.

It’s 2 pm

I’m still restless.

I’ve been so comfortable for so long.

I know. I’ve read all about it.

Let go of this and Let go of that.

I’m restless

I laugh at myself for being so

restless and still I’m restless.

It’s 10 pm.

I board the plane.

The doors shut and in an

instant, restlessness is replaced by

excitement.

I’m walking the streets of London

Piccadilly, Soho and beyond.

It’s early morning

Shops still closed and a slight

Chill in the air.

Apart from a few runners

and some shopkeepers

the streets are tranquil

and mine.

 

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