The Happy Hobo.

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

A memoir.

Sitting outside the house, feeling the cold morning mist as I write. Lone shining star above me, in a little while begone. Waiting for sunrise and blooming flowers and hellos from the wind from far, far away.

It was another night, I hear the ocean splash against the rocks. Varied languages I hear and love so. I do not understand a thing but it felt like lullaby to my ears. 

I walk down the sandy path, waiting and waiting. The bay was so quiet, and I get greeted by. Konnichiwa, I hear. 

No, mister. I'm not Japanese. Some familiar word uttered in Korean, still not. 

I walked further until I got to the cafe. No familiar face I see. I itched to get a mojito but stopped myself. Time ticked and ticked until I get to the last sip of my tea. Still, none. 

I get by until the next day break, and there. There. 

It was another morning, over tea and curiosity. I take a sip of your homemade brew, it elates me. I laugh, like a jovial kid over cinnamon and daydreams. 

Time ticks, I prepared to leave. Words uttered, I asked why. And why. And there you said it. 

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