I saw love once while traveling. It wasn’t my love story, but I bore witness to one of the greatest love stories the world might never know.
I dreamt of love once while traveling. It wasn’t hard to do when it was all around me.
I fell in love once while traveling. Not with someone I met on the road. Rather, my vagabond adventure offered me ample time for reflection, and while reflecting, I realized I was in love with my best guy friend back home.
I ran away from love once while traveling. Not because I didn’t want to commit. Not because I was no longer in love. But because that beating life organ in my chest had been broken, and I needed to escape the reality of it the only way I knew how.
Isn’t it funny how situational love and travel can be?