To a special someone:

missing home is nothing more than missing the smell of a single street
the ways the doors crack or maybe the leaves on the pavement that fall on my feet
but loving the present is nothing more than embracing the chance of a brand new beat
the rummage of trees in the backyard, the smell of tea and burned toast on the kitchen where new friends ought to meet
you can love today as much as you can, but don't you forget tomorrow may creep because there are photos, there are memories you made and you wish to keep
there is a boy beyond this land, who I love too much, I might even weep
I am in love with the wrong land for if I had a choice I would choose him of all of the boys and all of the cities drawn in big sheets
he's not like them ghosts, he's not a myth
I love him to death, that boy who lives a hundred of miles away from this, wherever it is that I'm at, recording words, feelings and toys of some of my endless adventures and trips