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A Gallivanter's Prayer

I dig my toes into the sand. The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds strewn across the blue blanket.
I wish to dig my own toes into that sand. I'm ready. I've been trying to prepare myself mentally for weeks on end now. Only that my body fails to push what my mind procrastinates to do. Now is as good a time as any to heal. The process of healing is long overdue.

Before my father left the country this past week, I realised now that I have two folding bicycles in possession. How ironic it is then that that's the case. I just want let go of a tear swelling up in my eye that just wouldn't let go, but it hesitates. There is no reason to do it. If a tear falls down in an empty forest and no one was there to see it fall, does it still fall?

Purpose. That was the intention the last time before the last time I was away. The last time I was away it was out of necessity. A mummer in a stranger's land: South Korea, where my joy turned to ashes and swallowed by a gaping pit of murderous intent. But before that, the adventure I found myself in was grand. Who was I to complain? Sure, there was plenty of self-loathing and burning desires to find belongingness, this one is no different. When my eyes found that beauty in a hostel kitchen, sparks did not empty the room of loud exposition, and yet we fell in love. I fell in love so hard, and I made a terrible mistake of opening that vulnerable side of me to someone who felt could not give equally as mine ever did.

This time I have my aptly-named bicycle, Nicharm, with me to discover new things. All I need is a shove, but I have no one here to urge me. This trip is dedicated to you, my love, wherever you are and whoever you're with.

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