When you are gone it seems as though
Everyone at home stands still.
The city you left remains as it was
Until you return.
The same people greet you
In their respective stations.
All you have is the image of yourself
In the people who remember you.
But you begin to move forward, still
Again… so as not to be left behind
But, it is not enough without belief
Without trusting yourself.
Sometimes we run to stand still
Sometimes we run to hide
But in our best moments we run
Into the arms of the familiar and unfamiliar.
In these circumstances we wish
That the wind was at our back.
But, even when the wind is in our favour
My hair still whips across my face.