I was 19 the first time I felt it
I saw a photo of the Golden Gate bridge
And wanderlust stirred in some little used corner of me
For the first time I saw the attraction of moving
Changing, leaving, discovering
Doing all of those things that I am no good at

I like to dwell
My home is built out of the people I let into my heart
And without them I am a gypsy
Aimlessly pacing the world
Learning to be lonely I have found home in little places
Instead of people

I found home under a parasol of green leaves
That drenched me in a misty, *******
I see home in the handfuls of seaweed that I send back into the ocean
Letting the tide ****** it from my hands

I could build a house out of places and memories
Instead of living in a home that is held together by love
Because my people keep abandoning me
And so I keep trying to rebuild something, anything

But too many repairs make it so that places and people collide
Leaving me nowhere to dwell
If I step in a place I stepped with you
It is no longer safe
It has been poisoned by a happy memory