Far too good at disappearing.
I arrive with ease,
then leave without a sign,
a breeze that passes
and is lost in time.
A passenger.
A nomad who leaves a trace,
and goes
A passenger.
I don’t dream of memories to make.
A passenger.
Temporary in those I touch.
A passenger.
Drifting on, with neither sail nor course.
Dreams fully,
with feelings half their force.
Not by choice,
yet not against my will.
But please,
don’t blame me,
I’m only passing still.
I´m nothing more
than a mere
passenger
