By Lealina Evangeline A. Reyes
My feet kiss the ground,
Cementing the shape of its outline into the soil,
Until another steps above my own layer.
One after the other, I walk, seemingly endlessly
This little ground I have ran across too myriad a time to count,
Now envelopes me into itself.
But I am never lost,
On the contrary, I am always found.
By faces that my eyes have not seen in months past,
Embraces that have not warmed me in too long.
In each finding of familiarity,
I encounter a piece of myself I once knew,
Coming in the form of people carrying fragments of my Heart.
This organ I have shred and shared
In the hopes of finding me in August evenings.
