We’d arrived at our destination, not too far to want to go home just not wanting to go home. We had our freedom, I had you. You had me. We didn’t know how long this would last, but venturing the world with someone I knew that understands water isn’t just water to me, that it’s crashing on the vicious rocks on the shore of my mind. I’ve explained this to you, once or twice, three times tops. You never get sick of me, although I know I do. Calmly a smile aroses against your soft lips, you remind me of honey and I kiss your cheek. All over the globe we search, we seem to find everything in the meaning of ourselves. When we return to our home and our family’s, were the same kids. We just know how to fill that void we could never fill, without making another. With the monks we grew together, into one. With the Spanish I’ve never seen you more alive. The Americans made you think about the ways to which religion and government and freedom all unite in some sort of way, to me, I’d never eaten such incredible food. You kissed my ankles in Italy, I sang you Billy Holiday in France. I grew apart from you for a while in China, but I knew you needed to figure yourself out first. When our last stop was in the Amazon, we met amazing people, culture built on togetherness never seemed so perfectly fitting.
I’d learned returning home and settling for that home, to be with you, was something we had to do eventually. It was inevitable. After all this time, I still feel like we’re adventuring the world. After all this time, you still kiss my ankles. I’m remaining on this planet with you, for as long as I can. When I go I know you’ll follow, were reunited, still exploring, everything that this solar system gives us to explore. If I meet you in another life, I’d do it all over again. Just to see your eyes light up, looking over the world on that cramped up aeroplane.