In the quiet of my room, I took it down,
The Polaroid, a silent witness to our past.
Not out of dislike, but sadness, I confess,
For I am drawn to roam, while you prefer to stay.
A wanderer, a nomad, lost in my mind,
I find solace in motion, in the open road.
But you, anchored to home, a steady presence,
In our mismatched rhythms, a discordance lies.
In dreams, I sought California's distant shores,
Yet found myself lost in a phantom's embrace.
Amidst the sway of theatre's hushed embrace,
We sang, forgetting all that ever pained.
Home, but briefly, mere hours fleeting,
A hurried embrace, a fleeting touch.
Familiar faces, fleeting moments,
Before I must depart once more.
One hand upon the wheel, one waving free,
In the twilight of departure, I find my peace.
