Crave

I’m craving the world and a sensory overload to knock me into submission. My senses have been muddled with a heavy dullness I can’t seem to shake standing still, standing here. A cloudless blue sky offering a blinding white sun to lift my sullen New England mood is not enough, it just illuminates everything familiar and routine. And safe.

I need to gorge myself with world culture until I choke.

I want a ringing in my ears, like a deafened eardrum recovering after gunfire, and a foreign dialogue echoing in my head as I drift to sleep.

I want straddle myself between tradition and modernity, feel a wayward tug-of-war pulling my limbs into historical context. I crave anthropic understanding beyond the diluted teachings of textbooks, and insight so truthful I’m burdened with epiphany and guilt.

I need to feel weightless and out-of-place.

I need to roam.

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