The Wanderers

Sitting at a station 

Waiting for your train 

Wanting you to fix us,

To make us perfect like before

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How could we mend ourselves?

Afraid of tracing all our cracks,

Fearing all our shattered parts,

We were scared of getting cut.

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Mornings bled to blurry sunsets

As we pursued your cries,

You led us into clouds and storms,

You kept us far from view

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But when we turned around, 

And saw our trails behind us,

Our pieces became whole again,

Our hands held open cuts.

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