It is back. The longing. I feel it in my chest. It is there, burning, yearning for things unspoken. Desiring left by fleeting thoughts, wisps of greatness, hints of what is to come. Memories of Mexico, the weight of my water bottle on my hip, the sun on my face, the chaotic shouts of spanish. Memories of the Call, of spending the day on my face. And the memories of things that hasn’t happened yet. Am I in Africa? Or is it South America? Am I on a stage worshiping? Or in the streets worshiping? It is still there. The longing. I feel it in my chest.