Ennui

History repeats itself.

Time and time again.

Without fail.

They say those who don't learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat it.

Is my mistake then in travelling?

Maybe they's why they call it "wanderlust".

There is a lust, an insatiable appetite for more whenever I return from a trip. I rise to grandiose visions of having the world as my oyster. There is no place I can't go, nothing I cannot see if I choose to. I shall go, I shall see and I shall conquer.

And then I come back home and I rush back to reality with a huge bump, and that is always disconcerting.

The ennui then sets in.

So much to see, so much to do, and so much to explore.

That I don't want to go home.

Home. Home is where the heart is they say.

Where's my heart gone then?