The road back to where you came from,

Litter blowing and sounding out its chimes.

You’ve been here before.

You’ll be here again.

There is no shame in taking stock.

There is no fame in staying locked.

Sure, you may stumble

Over yearbook pictures,

Under the weight of

Old love letters,

A thousand days of the same exact weather,

But in these things, you learn your ways,

Your own specific taste,

What makes you think

And brings you to the brink

And brings the power to keep pushing on.

So no, there’s nothing wrong

With listening to last year’s song

And putting your feet on a well-worn path,

Because a road will always have its end.

Raise your sail and blow,

Blow away with the wind.