Somewhere along the way, the idea of home shifted,

Without fully realising it, I feel different,

At peace, calm

I can find it within, even if only fleetingly.

Looking out of an airplane window,

In a new bed, in a new room, in a strange city.

I found it in my inkpots arranged in a line on a new table,

In my trinkets clinking on my bag,

In my old journal on a new bedside table,

In the ritual of unpacking, 

Piling clothes in a cupboard,

Lining bath products on the sink,

Arranging books on the bookshelf,

Finding a new routine,

A new grocery store, 

Cooking on a new stove.

This anonymity,

These new habits I will build, 

This person I will try to be, 

Live more simply,

More true, more honest. 

Is this the allure of nomads?