Who are you when you are not home ?

I have met myself in the morning and I was this woman who laid down in a wild sun, under the wing of a tree, with a smell of poppy and corn tickling my nostrils .

I miss home when the clouds and rains are missing from me.
I miss home when the thunders are missing from me.
I miss home when I meet people that lack emotion,  integrity and authenticity.
I miss home when I realize how superficial the world can be and how easily charmed by fading beauty, chained by absurd demands created by a crowd of uneducated, senseless people.
My heart has this quiet weep seeing that few are remained who love poetry, who look into the heart of science, who find comfort in old music.
I find myself a weird torment that keeps a book open to find answers and to seek for a connection .
I find myself a fool who wants to have a cappuccino with foam while talking about philosophers, spiritual paths, religion and social evolution .
I find myself just this dumb girl who does not have all the answers and that is when she misses her old friends most.

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