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Feb 1
After years of wandering alone
hearing mountains moan into
the sunset, uninhabited beaches
spread into the ocean like the
arch of the moon

I stand at your door,
sopping wet and weary
back bent from carrying eighty
litre backpacks across ancient
roads that only the locals

I said to myself, I have found me

as the roots of the trees arched
around my feet, their rough arms
folding around me, the earth
moving to the beat of my heart
the wild bird song stinging
my eyes with tears

I said to myself, I have found me

but you stand their
arms outstretched
the laces of your shoes still untied,
(and it still infuriates me!)
the smell of vegetables, rudely unplanted
roasting in a metal ***

as my head moulds into your shoulder
like tar

No, you say,
you found your way back to me
Emma Elisabeth Wood
Written by
Emma Elisabeth Wood  F/UK
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