Ever since a young age I’ve noticed that people are always trying to find each other
Hide and seek
Secret admirers
Someone’s always trying to play Christopher Columbus
I, on the other hand, take no interest in being found
I’ll blend with the colors of the golden sky at 5 pm on a Tuesday
Shape myself as small as a withering dandelion
Re-circuit my airways to breathe with the moon
And press my lips against ocean tides
until I’m vast enough that you would need 8 thousand different search parties
Just to find my pieces 

I think there’s beauty in being lost,
A tangible phenomena that people recycle
while they’re consumed with searching
There’s so much that can be found when you lose your greatest enemy
Your oldest companion,