This life is a facade.
It is the life that I need to live because it is my duty, my responsibility, to those who rely on me and to my own honor. But it is not the life that is meant for me.
Instead, it is a life that I think I would live if I desired to live this life. If I was another person, but also me, who desired stability, and the view from my front porch looking in, and a home that existing in a physical place instead of just in my own soul, then this is the life that I would live. I act in the way that version of myself would act.
But I am not really that person. I am from another world, living that missing person's life.
In my gypsy mind, I travel to those people I am not meeting, to those places I am not seeing, those passions I am not feeling, and those stories I am not hearing.
And I write those wanderings here.