When I Travel, The Last Thing I Wanna Be Is A Tourist
I yearn to feel the heat of the ground on my bare feet, not just the sun on my fedora.
I desire the breeze while I’m tight asleep than the wind rustling my hair on a safari.
I lust for lazy walks without a destination pinpointed on the map than visit all them bookmarked hotspots.
I don’t wanna hurry around stressed and distressed while adding a million places to my sightseeing agenda.
I fancy experiences that unfold on their own and not out of an excel sheet itinerary.
I pine to waltz with the locals cooking their food than being served my boring favorites at a fancy hotel by even-more-fancy waiters.
I crave to feel the dew drops on the leaves brushing my bare arms, don’t wanna glance at the moon and be gone.
I long to wake up accidentally watching the orange sky without the perfect sunrise than walk a million miles just to catch the sun and restlessly bid goodbye to it.
I pant for the aimless cat that no one cares about than go watching the rare beasts in the local zoo.
I seek the twilight marred by the bushes while lost in the trees than race for the sunset out of breath.
I starve to build the rainbow on the horizon with my myopic blur-studded-eyes than snap every inch of it on a DSLR.
I hanker after clothes draped by the locals than pack my bag full of hot a-lines and sweetheart necklines.
I beg for the crickets and fireflies than the AC bed in a fancy 5-star-resort full of extravagant bulbs.
I envy the sweat-drenched flocks of workers returning to their lilliputian homes than fluttering my prim-pressed gown at thesnobbish cottage on the shore.
I am not that adventurous if you ask me.
I just wanna smell the air, feel the scorching heat and drench in the dewy mornings when I go walking.
I have no plans for sightseeing, none at all to go touring and not a bit to go cruising.
Squandering will only choke me bare.
Wandering is my drill.
Meandering is my lust.
Bantering is my passion.
Pondering is all I want.
Go on and let me be astray.