Her back was to the windows with the blinds open so that the 

shadow

made her face black.

"I can't see you," he said. 

"What do you mean?"

"You're a shadow." He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as she walked over to the bed and now the 

sun

shined upon her and he could see her.

"Good morning."

---

Wanderlust

evaded him for over six years. Everyone around him either travelled or wished they could. In this regard he was an

alien

. A creature of routine, he could live out the same week for the rest of his life. Die happy that way. In this way he felt like he could touch his 

death

.

It wasn't a psychological, intellectual concept, but rather a destination that was already in existence. Just not yet arrived at. At the end of the six years of no wanderlust, he suddenly felt a detachment from this death as destination. Suddenly he knew he had to go to 

Indonesia

.