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31_days2006-04-08 11:49 pm
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-04-08 11:49 pm
[8 April] [James Bond] Homesick
Title: Homesick
Day/Theme: April 8th - The world through my feet
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond
Rating: PG
And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, shake the dust off your feet when you leave, as a testimony against them.
- The Bible, Mark 6:11 (NIV)
I have walked on the stones of a Colombian prison. I have felt the sacred dirt of Jerusalem under my feet. I have been to old battlefields covered with wild grasses, wild grasses grown up tall and tangled and gorged on the blood of a thousand boys.
I have slept in snow drifts where explorers died. I have made love where Tibetan monks used to worship.
Paris I have known, and it was Paris where I was truly known for the first time. In Munich, I fell in love again when I thought my heart would never unbreak. New York? That catch-all for those with ambitions and bad tempers? I've been. It was no more satisfying than any other town.
Ask me where I haven't been. The list is shorter, if not more interesting.
My wanderlust was bred into me by my footloose father, always travelling, never giving those around him a chance to establish roots. I was shiftless. From him I learned the art of blending in with the natives, wherever I might be. I could pretend to be at home in any location.
Ask me if I ever felt I was home.
There are no prizes for guessing the right answer.
Mostly what people ask me is if I felt homesick. I just shrug; it's not worth explaining that to be homesick, you need a home.
Maybe I am homesick, for a place that's never been and never will be.
I have been everywhere - they're all just dots on a map. I come back to the town where I live, and I wash their dust from my feet, and I sleep in a bed that hardly feels like my own because nowhere else will come as close to accepting me as London has. By which I mean, it hasn't spat me out.
Yet.
Tomorrow maybe I will go to the Caribbean, to Amsterdam, to New Delhi. Where trouble goes, I follow. (Sometimes, M insists, vice-versa.) Evil and chaos are by no means provincial.
And wherever I am, I will pretend to belong.
I might as well.
And when the beautiful girl on my arm asks me if I'm homesick, I will tell her the truth.
No, darling.
I never am.
I never am.
Day/Theme: April 8th - The world through my feet
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond
Rating: PG
- The Bible, Mark 6:11 (NIV)
I have walked on the stones of a Colombian prison. I have felt the sacred dirt of Jerusalem under my feet. I have been to old battlefields covered with wild grasses, wild grasses grown up tall and tangled and gorged on the blood of a thousand boys.
I have slept in snow drifts where explorers died. I have made love where Tibetan monks used to worship.
Paris I have known, and it was Paris where I was truly known for the first time. In Munich, I fell in love again when I thought my heart would never unbreak. New York? That catch-all for those with ambitions and bad tempers? I've been. It was no more satisfying than any other town.
Ask me where I haven't been. The list is shorter, if not more interesting.
My wanderlust was bred into me by my footloose father, always travelling, never giving those around him a chance to establish roots. I was shiftless. From him I learned the art of blending in with the natives, wherever I might be. I could pretend to be at home in any location.
Ask me if I ever felt I was home.
There are no prizes for guessing the right answer.
Mostly what people ask me is if I felt homesick. I just shrug; it's not worth explaining that to be homesick, you need a home.
Maybe I am homesick, for a place that's never been and never will be.
I have been everywhere - they're all just dots on a map. I come back to the town where I live, and I wash their dust from my feet, and I sleep in a bed that hardly feels like my own because nowhere else will come as close to accepting me as London has. By which I mean, it hasn't spat me out.
Yet.
Tomorrow maybe I will go to the Caribbean, to Amsterdam, to New Delhi. Where trouble goes, I follow. (Sometimes, M insists, vice-versa.) Evil and chaos are by no means provincial.
And wherever I am, I will pretend to belong.
I might as well.
And when the beautiful girl on my arm asks me if I'm homesick, I will tell her the truth.
No, darling.
I never am.
I never am.