The first time I knew love,
was on the tail of a ferry leaving France.
I stood alone and wept silent, painful tears
as chunks of my heart fell out and
mixed with the foam
the sea and the salt.
It felt as I was being torn from the arms of my mother.
It remains one of the most painful memories of my life,
as it was the first time my heart was broken.
That was when I decided I would do anything,
would give up every part of a normal thing,
to be with my love again.
I was seven,
when I lost my heart to travel.
I'd imagine that this must be how some people feel
about their children,
or their husbands,
or their careers.
For me though, my heart skips-a-beat
for foreign sounds,
smells I've never found before.
For the majority of my life
I've gone from one love to the next.
Chasing the always changing sunsets.
Wrapped in the vines embrace of new jungles.
Caressed by the winds of many mountain tops.
My heart skipped from one place to another,
avoiding the heartache of loving what I would lose.
That was until I came to Korea.
Now I find myself falling in love again and again.
Each time I turn around I feel like my heart has more room
for this beautiful, unique world.
It's not that I find it perfect,
but I find it perfect for me.
I accept it's failures,
and my insides go pitter-patter for it's charms.
For better or for worse,
I have fallen deeply, madly, passionately
in love with this place,
with this Drama.