Gentle strums of the ocean waves.
Your voice is an endless chords of an imaginary instrument: fluid, in harmony.
My nearly closed eyes, and the opened book are the reasons why you haven't stop humming.
Our last few days of oneness are slowly dripping in silence, and quiet admiration.
They teared up our minds like anatomy. Breaking bones, and identity.
The open road, and golden sunshine are still humbly waiting for us.
For the wheels to run through it, and our laughters to scatter on it.
The universe gazing our minds like an x-ray machine detecting lies.
I don't want you to go home. I don't want us to go home.
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