I have been drinking green tea by the evening light,
I have been wearing all my travelled hats again.

I have been striving for something beyond my reach,
in the hope that by stretching, I'll end up taller.

I have been eating croissants and drinking coffee,
exchanging currency and staring out windows.

I have been comforted by the sound of the rain,
as it taps on the drain by my bedroom curtains.

I have grown easy in this dormitory life,
sleeping through the day and then working through the night.

I have grown lazy, laid out in the olive grove,
in the eternal garden of the writer's mind.

I have grown weary through my scowling at the moon,
no more a wolf than a painter's aesthetic muse.

I have grown ugly through vague vanity's mirror,
I have grown privileged through my vacant stupor.

I'm still waiting for the love that has now perished,
a love that's now forgotten, that once was cherished.