for your feet would stumble. You’re tired of your disobedience. To yourself. Don’t say anything serious there. For serious words also would carry you away.
You need to pack light. Just a few patches of cloth. Don’t take your dreams with you. Let them stay here. I’ve got a place for them in me. I will cherish them in my eyes. My hair will caress them in your sleep. My eyelashes will keep them safe from being seen by envious eyes.
Your dreams will be safe with me. But you are not. For now, right now, you need to go on a trip all alone. To sing a different song for once. To swim with fishes, to fly with clouds, to be with trees. To be lonely and adventurous and crowded.
But I have one gift I want you to take with. Nothing serious. Just keep a memory. In your eyes. When laughing, when you’re gazing at the sky, resting on a bed, sitting at a bar stool. Keep the memory that you don’t need to say a word.
For I hear you no matter what you don’t say.