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Walkin On
Walking home is probably the shortest, but longest journey.
It's the giant steps of
"goodbye",
and small movement to
"hello."
I watch everyone walking by me, ready to engulf some other world that I have no need to worry about.
They're all in a hurry to go
"somewhere"
but the question is
"Where to?"
I don't know.
I look on to the people I know as
"my future",
but longingly look at
"my past."
That seem to hold on to me like caked mudd after a good rain.
I run pass the blaring cars and the roaring winds. I see the people
"go",
but
"how far do they go?"
I don't know.
I sing to the birds that fly on pass me like they have nothing to worry about. I laugh to the jokes played in my head, from earlier on that day. I
"wonder"
what the meanings really meant, and I
"wander"
to cemented roads home.
I see my home in the short distance
"waiting"
for me to reach it, yet everytime I feel closer, I feel like I am more
"impatient"
to get there.
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