Mugs with coffee rings and lipstick stains,
silver spoons and sugar cubes—
how I long for the taste of European air.
When I was there, I forgot my name
I shed my skin and left my soul
scattered in the mountains. I forgot
it there, and haven’t felt whole since.
I wander, across the chasms in my
memories, in search of understanding—
of a way to pull the pieces of my soul
without damaging all the corners.
But perhaps we lose pieces of ourselves
so that life may not drown us,
And so we may find we still know how to fly.