Melbourne is brilliant right now. Autumn is illuminated: the raised arms of the trees are backlit by an exuberant sun. Today feels glorious through every stop on the train, each suburb drenched and sparkling. I wish you were with me, to see this, but I love drinking in the beauty alone. It's painful almost, feeling this love for a city I've always planned to fly away from as soon as I can, for forever or as long as that seems. Even the graffiti-covered fences warm me today, Autumn's strange hot-cold emotions pervading everything from my lounge room to the train carriage to the parks I'm passing.
I console myself with the fact that the falling leaves I love so dearly don't belong here; the gold lining the streets is false compared to the places I want to be. The music caressing my melancholy comes from a modest New York artist I can't wait to hear sing live, maybe even meet. My clothes, my books, my ideas- all that I carry with me- are acquired due to my unapologetic wanderlust. To love this journey, today, for showing me a sun-blessed city seasoned with foliage and frost... this is not weakness. I don't need to be sad. This is bigger than me, or today, or Melbourne. It speaks to the part of me that's already flown elsewhere, keeping vigil, patiently waiting for the rest of myself to be ready to leave and never come back.