Traveler
I find home in foreign places,
Where my soul settles
And my heart wishes to re-visit.
Hence I mentally mark the location,
And conjure up an alternate life
Where we would lay beneath the stars on the rooftops of European buildings,
And have night drives in a small town of New York while sorrowful music fills the air .
That's when I realized the homes weren't the dream,
It was you.
YOU ARE READING
The Lace Age | ongoing.
Poetry"My head is full of thorns too harmful to leave unattended. " A collection of poems, short stories and free speeches. Copyright Ariana Miriam.
