When I was a girl, my family had the habit of going to a river that was close to the family home and already at night, while I slept, I could feel how my body continued to float through the waters, how the crystalline river was memory in me. The same thing happens to me when I travel! Sometimes I find myself sighing for a landscape that remained in my pupils, for a taste that I tasted at dawn, a day that we had the joy of being among friends, a hotel on the way, seeing the city when I hardly woke up. The wanderer has his home in the memories, where he was happy and where he wants to return. Beautiful poem and already gave me the nostalgia, friend ... A hug