on the coming and the going.

there's something about the going. there's something about tickets bought and bags checked. there's something about the pull of the unknown, the desire to see and taste and go, go, go. there's something about the grids out the window far below the clouds, and the way you remember all the open spaces we haven't yet crowded out. there's something about sitting at new tables with plates of new food, something to clinking glasses and marking new moments. there's something about the packing only what you'll need for a week, nothing more, yet finding space to tuck away new treasures. there's something about feeling small, and unknown, and a little lost. there's something about bookstores and target that always feel like home, no matter where you are. there's something about the longing, the unsettled feeling of being surrounded by the unfamiliar.

and yet,

there's something about the coming. there's something about the same bags checked again, the process smoother after practice. there's something about knowing it's safe where you'll land, because the landing brings you home. there's something about the way the ground turns green again out the window, the white of the west coast mountains long lost as the hours have passed. there's something about the faces in the airport seeming a little less like strangers, though they still are all the same. there's something about my bed again, the weak pressure in my own shower, the feel of my own floors beneath my feet again. there's something about the memories made, and the way they've changed me, even though I was only gone a short while.

there's something about the coming, and the going, too.

there's something about roots, and something about wings.

there's something about adventure, and something about contentment.

there's something about there, and still so much about here.

we go, go, go.

and then we come back again.

there's something about it.