Here and there and the people I meet.
A red foil balloon escapes the grasp of childish fingers to meander towards the raised ceiling. An arm reaches out, distraught, but cannot latch back onto the shiny ribbon handle as it spirals gracefully overhead.
“And the hardest part of turning in my heart is to know that you’re never coming back.”
Where do you go when you can’t go home? Where do you go when the world is wet and wild and windy, a reflection of the chaos in…
It all comes down to time, doesn’t it.
How much do you have? With whom do you spend it? How do you save it? Squander it? How long until…?