In this bedroom
with clattered papers
and dusty bags
and unwashed clothes and endless dreams

glittering and fading under the solitary light.

Truth is, I am somewhere else
somewhere near the shore
collecting sea shells
while the wind passed through my hair

my parts being scattered everywhere.

Maybe this is just a dream
this towel hanging lifeless on the headboard
the half-opened closet mouth gaping at me
the walls asking where I have been

the water bottle demanding a refill.

Maybe the truth is I am somewhere else
Somewhere, where sadness is far away.
Maybe I am sitting on a bench or inside my head
or in some star at 3 o'clock in the morning

*Waiting for your arrival.