• Charlotte Eriksson

Another Vagabond Lost To Love


6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days,

and I still don’t know which month it was then

or what day it is now.

Blurred out lines

from hangovers

to coffee,

another vagabond

lost to love.


I felt the storm through my walls last night

and the lighting turned the lights off.

But I don’t know why they all closed their doors

’cause I collected my ropes and wandered by the edge of the water

to see the way nature never gets off track,

and I’ve never seen the world so awake

and full of life

’cause it’s mostly static. It’s mostly still.

But there was chaos like a hurricane

blowing things up in the air

and it looked a lot like it does in me

these days,

behind my ribcage,

and it gave me peace. The way there was order within the storm

for weather has a reason, and

all

must

pass.


4am alone and on my way,

these are my finest moments.

It’s such a shame no one can see me now,

’cause if they did I swear they would all lift their sights from that safe grey ground and nod their heads and say “she’s on her way” and no one would doubt me like they always do around here,

around me.

But then again, if anyone did see me I bet I wouldn’t walk like I do now,

or sing like I do

now,

like thoughts free flow straight out with the winds

and no one holds me back here,

or tells me where to turn.

This road all mine to keep

and it will last for as long I want it to,

like a sinner stolen by the Gods

and I am not sorry.


I scrub my skin

to rid me from you

and I still don’t know why I cried.

It was just something in the way you took my heart and rearranged my insides and I couldn’t recognise the emptiness you left me with when you were done. Maybe you thought my insides would fit better this way, look better this way, to you and us and all the rest.

But then you must have changed your mind

or made a wrong

because why did you

leave?


6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days,

and I still don’t know which month it was then

or what day it is now.

I replace cafés with crowded bars and empty roads with broken bottles

and this town is healing me slowly but still not slow or fast enough because there is no right way to do this.


There is no right way to do this.


// from Another Vagabond Lost To Love