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.

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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!