We roam and rave, and lose ourselves,
whether in between alleys or cedar trees
Or waves, and we never stop running into
the tides that crash into
us, breaking all we ever covered
ourselves, all we ever hid behind.
No, we travelers don't sleep in white sheets. We
lay naked under the stars. Only under cold breezes
will we close our eyes, resting from the sights
that shine so bright they sore us.
And even then, we will listen
and we will dream.
We travelers don't fall in love to be in love
We let our hearts open for no other reason
than genuine awe of another being
who may or may not reciprocate our feelings, so
we'll laugh and cry bittersweet tears and smiles
until either nothing, or everything is what's