A favorite place had not been a lucid stroll down a fashionable road.
Nor had it been a trinket I could honor with my mortality.
Nor could it be a light placed upon a severed tree, displayed in the melt.
A watered bauble…I cannot hold.
A favorite place strikes me as, everywhere I want to be, unintentionally.
It is not the curiosity that stirs me.
For I could not find a message in a bottle even with several attempts.
A favorite place strikes me as, everywhere I want to be, unintentionally.
