Your Arms Are The Map

I have always wanted to see the world.

You know that.

I babble on and on endlessly to you about how I am desperate to just soak in the London rain and watch the sunsets Luxor.

You also know I am not really the best with change,

with packing my things and being on my own.

Yes, I am independent.

I can survive alone as well as the next but I just

I struggle with the thought of not having something stable

not having something that feels like home.

You also know that to me, home isn’t really a place.

Sometimes it’s the taste of those hard butterscotch candies in the obnoxiously loud yellow wrappers

or sometimes it’s the feel of satin on freshly cleaned skin.

Sometimes it’s the sound of an old favorite forgotten song.

I find home in little things everywhere

and recently

I’ve found home it your arms.

We can go anywhere.

To Casablanca

or Macau

To Rome

and Athens

A n y w h e r e

and I’d be happy as long as I can find myself in your arms at the end of the day

and preferably every moment during.



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