Foreign,
The word whispers to me like a long-lost sister.
Things that I long to encounter,
Things that are strange to me, different.
The word makes me dream of better culture,
A language that seems so strange and eloquent,
Rich and exotic food to sample
And a bright orange sun burning the horizon.
It makes me dream of change,
Of how the word is when there is no war.
Country to country friendship and peace,
A universal shake of tinted hands.
Everything tinted different shades, instead of tainted.
I want to encounter the different,
Rub shoulders with the strange
And teach myself... Everything.