She was an adventuress.
I'd visit her, though far.
Before we grew apart I'd send letters.
Head leaned back. That old familiar pillow.
That familiar smell of home. The letter I wrote always carried that familiar smell, although far away.
She promised she'd return. Home to a place of comfort.
I knew she found home a long time ago.
Single reason I too became a traveler.
Forgetting where I placed the keys to the house.
Finding a separate road that rounded and round, walking fast I hurried.
Finding the opposite direction more peaceful.
The sky more bluer.
That old pillow no longer familiar.
Until I inherited land and built a house.
Away from the window of her eye