My lover goes traveling with a backpack of things
Her eyes are always on the distance
She is a wanderer at heart and a sentimental hoarder
I wonder how she walks invisible and still takes up the room
But she doesn’t wonder at all
When she leaves she cleans up after herself like it’s the scene of a crime
Sometimes I think I don’t know her
And I am just the things she carries
When she leaves she will clean up after herself
And there will be nothing left of me to see