There are moments when hope and desire make my heart and spirit dance like a paper mache puppet. Silver threads attached to each limb, invisible strands that extend in all the cardinal directions and envelop thousands of kilometers. Connection to every city, every love, every cantaloupe-tinged sunrise and the lavender skies of twilight anywhere, everywhere.
Some mornings I feel the physical tug of certain places. A sort of downward pull at my heart, a reminder that there lies happiness and love in my past and in the unexplored. That I extend for thousands of miles, that there is no limit to who I am and who I can become.
These innocuous connections that allow me to move freely tend to pull at my heart in order to awaken me from momentary dormancy. As if to tell me that I exist not to be sedentary or inert, that belonging within one place is unnecessary and unnatural, that I have sprinkled pieces of me in many places.
My marionette heart dances to the beat of love always away and elsewhere, both here and there.
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