Eyes green, speckled with bits of brown.
Like a forest begging to get lost in.
In the summer, your skin turns maple brown.
Sunkissed and glowing.
Your hands are strong and calloused from years of bricklaying
with your Father.
We drive around the streets of your hometown
that is named after my home state.
You show me all the houses that were built by his hands and yours.
They are towering mansions.
I imagine our home and the fireplace you will build there.
You are a busking surfer boy on the Venice Beach boardwalk.
Dreadlocks drenched in ocean salt and golden sand.
Playing Dylan and Donovan on your grandfather's guitar.
Faded wood and worn down inlays.
Faded wood and worn down inlays.
You play Mr. Tambourine Man, and I nearly cry hearing those lyrics
for the first time.
for the first time.
I want to be under that same diamond sky.
Hands outstretched. reaching.
You are a runaway on a train headed west.
Watching as the Allegheny Mountains roll by.
Vanishing from your small town that rests in the foothills.
Nestled and neatly tucked away.
The only place on earth that will keep you safe.
But the risk of danger is too enticing.
You are intoxicated by it.
The rush of carelessness.
Escaping the mundane.
Leading you toward the inevitable road to ruin.
I always knew you would leave me for her one day.
The girl named Calamity.
The only place on earth that will keep you safe.
But the risk of danger is too enticing.
You are intoxicated by it.
The rush of carelessness.
Escaping the mundane.
Leading you toward the inevitable road to ruin.
I always knew you would leave me for her one day.
The girl named Calamity.
Even in your absence, I see you in every sad lost boy.
My heart is open to all the drifters and ramblers and roamers in the world.
Somehow, you are a part of each of them.
The Wanderlusts.
