Travel. Pull your roots away from the
Soil in which they were planted so the air
Gets in between, gets in and flushes out the
Sticky mud that pulls this earth together.
Breath deep and have a moment of clarity,
Of weightlessness, of the immortality of the soul
While trying to sleep on a lonely night in a
Parisian summer. These wooden beams are
Older than you will ever be, yet they still support
The rooftops of homes in which people sleep and
Work, so what kind of friend never calls you back?
Resolve yourself to inaction that is disguised as
Action. Merit means moving on when it’s time
To cut your losses, just know when to draw the line.
Sink your fingers deeper into the polluted seashells of
Antique rivers until you have the sensation of a
More intimate relationship with the wind blowing through
A city’s brick walls than with the voice on the
Other end of the phone. Stay lonely, stay
hungry, stay independent until the night comes when
There is no one left to talk to but the city
And she never responds anymore either.
Based on today’s NaPoWriMo prompt.