notes of wanderlust

The world continues to move on like I was nothing more than a one night stand.

As if the salty kisses from the sea that still ghost across my lips or the sweet echos of the forest breath against my skin meant nothing. As if the way the sandy finger tips that grazed down my sides, or the tender touches of the grass didn’t mean a thing.

The world continues to move on without me as if I was nothing more than a one night stand, yet I still crave her beauty and maybe that’s why they call it wanderlust.

—  Wanderlust (8:34pm)

Nobody Knows

This is the last week I can call myself a college student. I’ve been thinking too much lately. But I still live my day, and do what I can. I work in the morning while I eat my breakfast, because the nights are always too damn sensitive. Yes, there were times when I lived for somebody else. My passion died, so I decided to live it for myself. I just decided it was time. 

But I wrote a letter on a lonesome day saying that I don’t know when I’ll be coming back again. It depends on how I’m feeling. Nobody knows how to say goodbye. Nobody knows how to get back home. Nobody knows how the story ends. But it hasn’t yet. So I start the day, doing what I can.