Poem: Even Here

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Even Here

Do not ask me what it is,
this constant urge to travel,
this need for new cities and horizons,
strange accents and food,
places to lose myself in.

It is not a discontent.
Life here and now, in this moment,
is as good as a man could ask.
I am known, just enough,
love more than I deserve
and the coffee in the morning diner is superb.
No, it is not discontent.

But still, I live in a restless place, with
a constant hunger to see what I have never seen
perhaps
for no other reason than it helps me see
where I live in new ways, making life
forever a wonder.
Even here.

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