While on the road, I often find myself in small towns that resemble home. I could be in Germany, but I’ve somehow wound up in their version of omagh. In fact, sometimes it’s even more like omagh than omagh is. These traps are all over the world. You could be anywhere. Then you walk into a bar and you are nearly certain you have been there a million times before, even though you haven’t. Suddenly you feel at home. The trap of comfort catches you, and you don’t wanna leave. You can’t speak their language but you connect with the people on a primal level. Like you’ve known them your whole life. No words are needed. You’ve met them before. Even though you haven’t.
I’m not sure how I keep winding up in these places. It’s like I struggle to get out of the fishbowl only to fall right into another one. Are these traps set to catch me? Or perhaps i gravitate towards these places on a subconscious level. Like there is a pining for home somewhere in the gut. Maybe it’s a bit of both. But one things for sure. I’m stuck here. Even if I’m across the planet. I’m somehow still right here. Even though I’m not.