I need to write about you.

It's fading.

I could feel it all slipping out of my tightly clenched fist,

Walking beyond my reach.

Finally do I understand that it's all but a result of misinterpretation,

a blurry vision -

this is the destined life of a dreamer.

What else do I do all day long,

but wait and anticipate the day I am too, sought after

by another lonesome soul like mine?

Pathetic.

But I asked for the ride,

and I'm still up for it.

Should I get off after this single journey,

or wait until all my hopes and dreams are sent back from abroad on the return,

so they get locked back into the depths of a deteriorating cave,

my heart?

B.