There have been times when wanderlust has made a bit of a number of itself, yelling fly, fly away. Run, run as far as you can, no faster, faster, even faster than you can.
I hear it but normally don’t listen. Or can’t—whatever the reason—do as it says.
And there have been times when I’ve had to fly to—fly back to—back to what I would much rather run away from. At such times wanderlust doesn’t have a say about it, it isn’t even allowed in the room. At such times all there is to do is be there, right there, sitting, waiting, thinking, remembering.