I’ve always wanted to travel.
I found a way to romanticize the hell out of anything destitute.
“Where should we go?” he asked.
“Anywhere but here,” I answered.
Did we want the glorious night scene of city lights on black rivers?
We preferred the dust settled streets paved by diurnal foot journeys.
Did we want the sleek skyscrapers to look down on us as we walked past strangers in a hurry?
We chased the feelings of the moment, the view from the top, the rare perspective.
Did we want the decadent hotels with wasted gratuities spilling out the seams?
We lived in harmony with the lives already established there, shared their homes.
“Why did we come?” he asked again.
“Why did we stay back so long?” I answered.