The places I go remain with me.

Recollecting’s re-collecting moments captured within concrete walls which have no color of their own, no light which the skies emit. Flowers give the room its light, the day its color, arranged with thoughtful hands.

The love of a family fills a home with the fire of a star; an artist’s past imbues their work, for their work derives from movement, stepping from that place into each new word, each stroke, each thought, a collision for the world to hear, drops of rain shine with the color of a rose.

That’s what is shared, that’s what is seen, that’s what possesses the wandering soul, looking for a place to hide. It doesn’t matter who we were. All that counts is who we are; in your eyes human loses definition, words become nothing, two creatures fumble and dance and feel the weight of gravity, and with their breath, with their smiling eyes, lessen.

I see me for my faults,
you see me as I am.
I see you as a soul that’s trying,
your smile’s my success.
Boundaries break.
Earth it shakes.
We’re trying, right?
So keep your head up.
What they say can’t hurt us.

Is it the places which remain or the words, said or unsaid, lingering in echoes between two beating hearts. It’s not the place, but what the place contains, memories which fade and fade, puddles drying from the sun after a cold and rainy night. People fill the world with light.

You’re the thought I carry.