Traveling Alone
A WAVE OF A HAND
CLUTCHING THE FINGERS AT THE WINDOWS
A SMALL TEAR OF FAREWELL
NEVER HAPPEN TO ME.
IN THE WINDOW SEAT I OPT FOR,
IN THE AIR THAT PLAYS WITH MY HAIR
IN THE OLD SONG THAT THE BREEZE BRINGS FORTH
IN A FRIENDSHIP THAT BLOOMS OCCASIONALY
IN A CHILD THAT CHOOSES TO SLEEP IN MY LAP
THE EMPTINESS,
THAT THERE IS NONE TO RECEIVE ME TOO
FALLS INTO OBLIVION
TILL I TRAVEL AGAIN .
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