I see your soul.
A barren strain isn’t hard to examine.
I know the flatline and dead mindlessness
that comes as a sand storm sweeps.
I know those aches and groans.

I’ve sat by the colorless windows
of a gloomy city, seeing nothing but strangers
with indifferent eyes.
I’ve walked these streets feeling the laughter
vibrate but never entering this gray soul.

I’ve bought all the whisky to drown out
the fluorescent lights of love blooming
in the new year.
Grabbed book after book
in hopes to fill the gaps and dents in me.
There might be a cure
but don’t find it in someone else.

For those tropical storms can carry
them away and leave you to wallow
alone like a tape on replay.

So run.
Go far and leave this town.
Run from your life.
Travel.
Eat.
And pray.

Then maybe you can love and blossom
in the lights for the choices taken
by a wandering soul.

Fit to nothing but feel everything.
For life is too short to sit- read- drink-
and feel the burn of salt on your cheeks.

Sincerely yours,

Wanda