And my heart is filled with sorrow and sadness,
to the memory of my suitcase up on the shelf,
waiting to be used again,
by my unstoppable nomadity.
I will leave family and friends again,
and dive into the uncertainty of the future,
And each time the end is close, leaving gets harder,
and i know that when it will happen next time,
I will not leave.
And it is so hard to describe, yet so simple to understand,
the sorrow from parting once again,
and leaving the present behind,
And now i look for justification,
of this nomadic behaviour
Not finding any answer, just a thought, just an action,
just a justification, for this supposed