because if I were in a different city,

everything would feel so much different… 

even if all other variables remained the same, 

the same isolated days,

leaving quaint cafes with clothes reeking of coffee,

after a day’s worth of writing in my dilapidated diary,

walking home under the same despondent streetlights,

consuming far too few calories,

living in my own galaxy of sui generis perplexities,

but everything would feel so much different,

profound,

just because of one variable,

which is the only vocation of a vagabond.

–e.l. jayne