I’ll travel to you at any cost.
Bags packed ready to get lost.
Mr. Pilot take me Northwest.
I need to get there before sunset.
Two Suit cases and a duffle bag, if only that was all she travelled with.
The whistling train was a welcomed distraction, a snoring mother whose baby wailed for suck, the endless winks and sickening kisses blown from the clueless admirer down the aisle but none told her story as the two suit cases and a
duffle bag she packed with her other baggages unseen.
If only, dear Porter, I didn’t need to need you, to help me look after my baggage’s as I wander for a minute into denial.
I need you to distract me, oh Lover! for another minute.
Her face told her story, so as she learnt to cherish her face she learnt to tell her story with smiles, tears, thanks and sigh. She knew. Home was far. Not by distance but acceptance.
Words are beautifully hideous.
Standing alone they tell stories; “lost”.
Standing together they speak riddles; “I am lost?”.
Used right they reveal truth; “I am lost!”.
In the hands of a wordsmith they become characters only a depraved mind can have; “I don’t want to be found”.