Street haunting

I am about to leave for beloved London and I am afraid. I don't want to come back in three weeks' time to feel that I don't want to be in Mexico. It happened once, six months ago. Freaking melancholy, almost unbearable, almost eclipsing my experience in beloved L.
This can't happen again. This is not the reason why I go.

Yesterday, as I drove along P's deuxième, I watched as far as my eye could see this City of ours, streched out to the limits of the brownish skyline, jacaranda-spotted here and there, among the green of the trees and the gray of the buildings.

I enjoyed the sight. Mexico, aquí es donde vivo. Ésta es mi ciudad y aquí está mi casa, aquí está mi vida de hoy día. Aquí están mi familia y mis amigos.

This is where I go street haunting, knowing that I could never get lost no matter how tremendously big this city is.


I am rooted here, for the time being. There is a sense of duty of the things that I know I cannot leave aside, at least, not for now.

I know where I come from and I know where I'll be going in three days's time, but I know where I have to return, in order to leave again, when the time comes. And I'm sure it will, someday.


Mexico-London-Mexico. I do have a return ticket. But sometime in the future and for a little while, I know I won't need it.