Every one of my belongings with me
Is damp from the mist of night.
The smell of the fire is in my hair,
Hair has a habit of holding scents
And thoughts
And hands.

My head is like the sun right now,
With planets orbiting.
Each planet it’s own worry,
The surrounding asteroid belt
Is just raindrop fears on a tin roof.

The trees were supposed to hide me.
The leaves were supposed to cradle me.

High school was never supposed to end,
We were all supposed to stay the best of friends.

If anything has become evident on this little trip,
This galavant across the countryside
It is that we aren’t one life anymore,
We are four.