This year morgues served welcome drinks no one ever wanted. We inclined towards ice skating, tiptoeing with skates on sheets of paranoia and uncertainty. Silly! You don’t tiptoe on ice, you will plummet like snowflakes that never had the chance to twirl magically in a Disney movie.
The Epilogue of Wanderlust
Wanderlust etched in the calcium of her bones,
Sprinkled like the dust of pixies in the carbon of her soul.
Searching for a pair of arms and a soft smile to call them her home,
On the streets whose names she can’t pronounce where directions are written in a foreign dialect, she rummaged and roam.
Rummaged and Roam.