to the beat of our noisy hearts

In the three weeks that I have been holed up with the English boy in his tiny town on the southwest coast, we have fought and made up more times than I can even recall anymore. It’s an intensity that sometimes feels like insanity, but the more that I can’t explain what draws us back together every time—despite our ever-increasing differences—the more I think that it’s right.

England is cold and generally rainy, but beautiful in the outdoorsy way that I came to love on the Camino. A complete 180 from the sprawling strip malls of Houston, I appreciate it while also becoming more and more excited about my return to big city life.

I am putting my travel life on hold soon, starting to look at flights home, discussing rent and direct deposit. I’ll be leaving behind the uncertainty, the excitement of getting off a bus in a brand new city, the loneliness of waking up in an unfamiliar bed. But I wonder if—across continents and cultures and time zones and time off—I can keep him.


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