Sometimes They Call It Wanderlust
I am imagining myself away again,
imagining a me in new locations,
filling spaces I can’t satisfy myself.
New views will fix all wounds
a house on the Pacific, an apartment in Madrid.
I traveled there once, thought it would
heal something in me. It didn’t.
Only left me wanting more, the way
fickle lovers do.
This is not to say I’m unhappy.
No. But restless? Restless.
Like a sunset of leaves falling from trees in New England
swept away by the wind wherever
the breeze takes me. I am home
here, but I am imagining myself away again
looking for a place to fill me.
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Grace Moore is a writer from Washington. She writes fiction, creative nonfiction, and the occasional poem. She also writes articles on travel, mental health, writing, and books. Sometimes she’s funny, or at least that’s what her mom says. Follow her on Instagram @gracieawriter.
