I have inhaled the air of countless cities
and left some of mine behind.

My distinct fingerprints are invisible
but they exist
in a place amidst many others
on tables and handles everywhere.

My voice had probably made someone turn
and wonder what type of a person I was.
Do I sound happy because I am
or is it a mere façade I have covered the truth with?
It will leave them pondering over the masks we wear.

Lipstick stains on coffee mugs
Kissing the worries goodbye
they flutter away into thin air
and become someone else's instead.

Eyes darting to the clouds above,
that water was once down here in the sea
but now it is above hovering over me.

Like snakes shed their skin,
and dead matter turns to trees
we leave a part of ourselves
on dusty shelves
for others to recover and use

the cycle goes on.