I left my bed that smells of you to the kindness of a stranger; your memory will be taken care of by someone who will never have to meet you, someone who is not running away.
Every place a story, the bitter sweetness of the unknown running in spirals on the palm of my hand. The whole planet, a prison of freedom, heart open to mysterious tongues, consciousness spread to embrace the winds. Borrow my eyes, bedbugs and aching heels, if you please. Hi, I'm not home, don't leave a message.