I lose myself in a dream of home.
It is here where I learned the difference
between connected and attached. 

My heart hangs
from the grape vines
that lead to you 
and for once,
we speak the same language. 

I eagerly breathe 
the same air you do 
even if it burns me 
because you are
what I am 
nothing without. 

Suffering is transient
but our essence lingers. 

What is better,
to be fortunate or real?

When I close my eyes,
I smell the coffee and cigarettes
and see that imaginary line 
between nostalgia and regret. 

And for a moment,
lost in this illusion of home,
I find solace from myself.

No longer a trespasser, 
I can share your heartbreak 
and not because I want to,
but because I am close to you. 

I want to be close to you.