Loving never mattered to someone so tired of it.
In that quiet town where the sun rarely showed itself,
and with roads puddled by the never-ending rain,
she found herself swearing
promising
that what broke her could never reach her again.
Nobody could put a finger on where she came from.
All traces would only lead back
to the old inn’s waitress
who saw her arrive with a look so barren,
and fed her for free, as she always did to vagabonds.
This town full of compassion wasn’t for someone who wanted to avoid it.
And so, after a few days and nights,
she left for nowhere.

And I'm looking
through the other-side
now of a cafe window
at a collection of asian tourists
joyfully wandering
up and down 18th street.
Do they know
I don't belong here,
ordering a 12 dollar cocktail
pretending to type behind
a laptop glow. Do they know
I don't belong here
and I am not scenery
and not a local,
in this country
I feel someplace else.

we are the lost souls,
wandering this lonely world,
searching for each other,
for the place where our dreams
collide with reality.
we are the dreamers,
daring to look to the sky
knowing in our veins
we are destined to fly.
we are born of storm and wind and fire.
created from chaos we are
meant to rattle the stars
we will bow to no one
apologize for nothing
and answer to none
save for the pounding
of our wild hearts.
carved from diamond
we are unbreakable,
with the taste of forever on our tongues
we burn so bright that the sun grows envious  
we will never be chained,
refuse to be contained
and may the gods help those
who dare to tie us down
for you cannot tame
that which is wild and free,
therefore you will never tame me.

the house is too large with not enough people,
an empty space, a skeleton of something.
you keep running into the ghost of your dead dog
and the memory of your father in another country.
there are too many people to miss.

the apartment is too full and far away to be called yours,
only a temporary safehouse,
and a place of only work and sleep
cannot be called a home.

you do not want to be lonely
but you cannot wait to be alone,
and so you do not belong anywhere.

I almost believed that autumn came,
that rains castles of emotions have built.
Who is guilty of all those things?
The forest on the crust of sadness slipped.

In fall's eyes you see the leaves in the wind,
seeking happiness, weeping for the summer.
For nobody ever-ever told them
what is the meaning of a true autumn.

The days and dawns seem so far now,
the golden leaves flow in a theatrical way.
It was the end of the autumns ball,
they listen triumphantly on the unobstructed paths.

Autumn, with her untrustworthy sadness
returns again, sipping the light of the forest.
Looks like all is floating, resembling to a wave,
they curl and crumble from shore into shore.

The silent trees on the fall's fragile shoulders
are like leaves in the arms of rains soldiers.
With divine lights come through the enchanted glass
at the crossroad to give her one more kiss.

The autumn of soul is like a bouquet of wind,
like love-loving salvation wandering in thoughts.
The sap of love penetrates into the holy rains
with cold splashes, for having the last words.