I don’t think there will ever be a place that can contain her or a person who can hold her. She’s like the air we breathe – vital to our survival but grasp we are unable. Sitting across from me in this tiny, warm shop for coffee, she merrily talks about her past travels and future adventures. Never staying like the tide, it’s no wonder why she has a forgetful side. She jumps from one topic of conversation to another; there is no helping her because she is a bullet train going full speed ahead with no exact destination. She’ll stop when she pleases and she’ll continue going if that’s her decision. The short pauses she allows herself during this conversation to either sip her sugary drink or eat her chocolate cookie, from the tiny flickers in her eyes, I can tell that her mind is already somewhere else. She’s not always physically on the go, but mentally, it seems like she’s traveling the universe on her own. Leaving her alone, she slowly stares out into space. I don’t understand how all these thoughts attack her at such lightning pace. Sometimes, she shares them with me and what may be comprehensive in her head might turn out jumbled in speech, but it is fine. I do my best to follow. Returning to the table, she smiles at me. I know that she’s ready to leave. I grab my coat from the chair and follow her out into the cold air. That’s just her: a wanderer, my little wanderer. Vital to my survival, but grasp I am unable.