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The places we get attached to. Strange.

To be sure, were it not for it being the hometown of my beloved, that easterly town would never have attracted me.

As it is, I have a fondness for that unassuming place on the shores of the Black Sea. Soon enough I grow homesick, yearning to return.

It’s not Venice or Monaco. Nor Rome or Porto. The land is beautiful, but the cityscape mere urban sprawl.

Yet it is where we made our second home. Where, for a time, we made our migration, and may yet again.

This the land decreed for us. Somewhere like the place of those childhood dreams of mine.

Perhaps one day we will settle there to raise those goats and chickens, to live off the land as once imagined.

As with this little market town far from the place of my birth, our hearts were made to incline towards it. Hearts attach.