On our way home

Source

Your boots are wet
We found purple dreams standing on the fields where spring cries
Regretful of all the mistakes we are about to make
It drips and rolls over our skin
The air is warm enough to flow up and back my scalp
To forget lungs and reasons

Where we are going
Nowhere is to be seen
We carry landmarks and footsteps towards the bench we first sat together

Your boots are wet
Our hands touch
I am home.