because sometimes the soil is loved just as well when under the toes of memory
sometimes being there means less the presence and more the weight of love
and sometimes love is something I do best when standing far away
sometimes when we commit to each other – we only break further away
because I never thought I would become a Wanderer
my pride towards this land, my land, never made me wish to grow Outwards
but I am a hollow stem that will not grow on fertile earth
and you – you are further away when I am close to you
say, did you not find all that you sought in the place that coaxed your flourishing?
I did. I found it all. it was my heart that I found lacking.
it is not the pain that makes me run – and nor is it the pleasures
it is the absence of a Search to drive me to exultation.
call it running away. call it an exposure of my lavishness
frame me, maybe, as a wild maenad, unaware of privilege
no. I simply cannot stay. this place
has loved me almost violently
and the gaping space it saved for me was almost isolation
it turns out I am a creature that thrives best under starvation.
The Malfoy Case is complete, Marius (my new fic about Marius Black, a Squib involved with East End gangs in the 1940s) has begun, a new chapter of The Tisroc and the King is on the way, and me… I’m moving to Lithuania!