I pick up a few things
here and there,
but also leave a trace;
ghosts of me in the air.

In LA, I picked up a fondness of graveyards and blond hair.

A carefree and summery me
will stay baked into a few golden
August days in Capri.

In Normandy, I left behind a girl who didn't know how to let a bird be free.
In Black Rock City, I learned that bird was me.

In Riverside, I cried.
In an ironically named town, I left a river of tears behind.
In Rome, I found a key.
It wasn't the one for Vatican City.

I keep what I love, and I love what I leave,
but the parts that I leave just don't have space in this version of me.