The traveller comes home,
The wanderer returns—
But reality is not a book.
When you go back, be prepared:
For sad eyes and gravesides and greying hair.
For those who’re gone, for those who were never here,
For crayons lost and empty chairs,
For keys that don’t fit and slamming doors.
Those you’ve left behind, and those who stopped waiting…
Those still waiting for you,
and those you’re still waiting for.