art, depression, life, loneliness, poetry, self, thoughts, travel, Uncategorized

Leaving Milan

So I was always cold

And staring across the road, looking for hanging clothing

And brushing my fingers on a baby pine tree

So I was always in tears

Closing my eyes to memories on the back of my tongue

And curling beneath a turquoise blanket

So I was always exhausted

From myself, mostly, and the weight of future days

And from frequently walking near eucalyptus-scented streams

So I always breathed the air deeply

After climbing over pavement to see the top of the city

And it was cloudy, and overcast, and calm

So I always sighed

When I was tired of walking, and wished myself home

And then I left


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