Small. InbetweenthecoversIfeelsmall.

WhenIthinkoftheworldasonesingleplaceIfeelsmall.

WhenIimaginetheseawithinaconchshellIfeelsmall.

WheneverydaythetreeoutsidemywindowhasanewguestandnowtherearemanyIfeelsmall.

WhentheroadsneverendonthehighwaythatIoncetookandthedistancesaretoobigIfeelsmall.

WhenthebirdsflysohighthattheyseemlikeinkstainsIfeelsmall.

WhenthephoneringsatanoddhourandmyheartskipsabeatbutitisnotyoucallingIfeelsmall.

WITHOUTyouIfeelsmall...

Our feet they will take us in different directions.At times mocking, at other's coaxing us to go and find a path, an unfamiliar path with strangers up mountain roads or cold seas....The feet will always say you are empty, go fill yourself up with someones laughter, or a story that someone sent out with a prayer on the wind's edge....and we shall look at our feet sometimes and be surprised how they seem to have come from somewhere far away....not even our own....These feet will take us elsewhere, where the sounds are different and the silences too....do you think your feet will ever stop, perhaps, many years from now to think about my feet? Will they recall, in some quiet hour the patterns we had made together in sand once?

Or do feet once removed from each other never look back at the roads they walked on?