The trouble with you.
Woe to the connections and memories to boot.
Waiting for elevators, pondering the weight of
Travel connect 1-2-3-4.
Begging for clean lenses on and or about
what reason we connect for.
It's a pun driven car, pouting its way
past.
more than a vacation from a world of rainy days
(who am I kidding, months) which come and come and stay.
Suffering is what it takes lately, I suppose.
Trudging towards a smile, sticking to a phone call.
And I wish, ya know,
like a child, I just wish before every door opens,
That a plane wouldn't be so cruel to me again.
Books and mystics can't give good reason,
why my palms sweat. Or,
why my strength becomes my weakness,
whenever she laughs a little.
Of all the wisdom I've ever known,
it's rare does me good.
I've learned to cherish,
and am still left wanting more to cherish.
Lost in translation and missing you.
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