A Map to Anyone's Heart

postcards and plane tickets everywhere

She is the many countries she had fallen in love with–the towering commercial buildings, cheap hostels, bustling local markets, crowded streets, overpopulated beaches, and empty children parks. She is in every street corner, leaving behind a trail mixture of scent that smelled of nostalgia, fascination, and sometimes, a hint of compunction. She is the many faces of the sky above your head while you are lying on your back on the sand, the clouds rolling by like cottons blocking your throat. She is even the light, the kind that you mostly see and experience when you look at the sun for too long. She is the waves in the sea, crashing down on the shore, and leaving almost immediately, a constant reminder that all beautiful things do not have to stay for so long just to be left behind. She is the wrinkles in the bed, the sheets crumpled, the pillows used, the dreams had ended, and the memory of sleep you cannot seem to remember. She is going to be there, lighting up a cheap cigarette stick, looking out the window, and try to remember the last time she was left behind. She is always going to be there–alive, smiling, laughing. She is here, there, and everywhere. 

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A/N: I'm uninspired to write anything. This isn't good.