We Long To Leave, We Long to Return

Preparing to leave is bitter-sweet. The anticipation of the journey to come quickens the heart, adventures ahead so tantalisingly close you can almost taste the excitement, the fear, the exhilaration of discovery. Packing is a treacherous task, which items are scrunched and shoved down into the bottom of your pack, which are betrayed and left in cupboards, on shelves, in showers. Economy is the name of the game, yet little luxuries sneak in, a bottle of perfume, a bulky exfoliater. A second pair of jeans. In amongst it all things are forgotten in hurried exits, rushing to make departure times and when you reach your destination the quest for socks, for a mascara or raincoat is no nuisance, rather the catapult that thrusts you into foreign supermarket aisles and pharmacies, grappling with phrase books and friendly shopkeepers.

Of course the things we cannot take are those we miss the most. We cannot choose which friend to stow in the overhead compartment, nor can we forgo a pair of shoes in order to squeeze a lover in at the last minute. We will miss purrs and paws and the sound of the tram passing in the night. We miss our own comfortable corner of the earth as we traverse the globe in search of, of what? Of hard beds and surly bus drivers? Of food that has us retching and heaving? Of rainy days that leave us holed up in hotel rooms that smell of mildew and someone else's feet? Are these the things we crave?

The zips are finally pulled shut and we haul our luggage out the door. Tears are inevitable, here on our doorstep or later, as the plane takes off and we feel the distance unravelling between us and our lives. It is as if we leave ourselves behind, tucked up under a heavy duvet, hibernating in our homes, while another you, the one who hitch hikes, accepts food from strangers and lets body hair grow wild and free takes off into the clouds, up, up and away.

We will not write, nor will we call, lost in the streets of far away cities filling our mouths with foods we cannot pronounce, unable to thank a waiter for attentive service except by leaving spare change and a smile.

But we will think of you, and when we return to wake our hibernating bodies and resume our everyday life there will be a difference in the way we walk, the way we smile, the way we hold you tightly.

For coming back is bitter-sweet. The things we have seen have changed us, the blood in our veins is not the same. In the hallway our coat still hangs where we left it, the champagne glasses gather dust.

Put a bottle in the fridge to cool. I'll be home soon.