My family is deeply rooted here. If my mother had told my father (& he loves her to no end) that she had to give up his land, he would've responded something like your poem here. As much as he loves my mother & as much as he's suffered over vines & soil, he couldn't leave the land. & even I have this way of coming back, always coming back, & it's like I can't actually leave. There are memories everywhere & sometimes they haunt me. I love the feeling of walking down a street I don't know where some memory isn't going to jump out from the next corner & bite me, not that all of them bite. Some memories are lovely & wonderful, but the good comes with the bad. There's no breaking up that marriage. I don't think I could ever be completely free of my roots, basically, or any of us, for that matter. It is best to just be honest about it.
This is me responding to this conversation, it has this underlying feeling of though I love you, I am already committed to something, & such commitments are always of the flesh variety & can't be dissuaded.