You don't always stay for long. 

It's just a drive-by, an idle hunt for a new hobby, or an old one set to lie. Window shopping fresh ways out, tangled strings leading back to the mouth of the cave. Knots are just a new checkpoint. You're supposed to move forward, after all. It's supposed to be dark. Torches will burn the string, knots and all. Navigate by feel, like those old mariners did, and someone else wrote about. How many poems are lost to the deep blue, to never make it home to another pen's pocket.

You don't always stay for long. But you remember how to get back.
I consider myself someone who has a few things. But comes back to them often.

I notice some have a lot, and come back to few.

2022-03-08 02:46:05