Themes: Salima
A series of graciously smiled-upon hotel rooms. A lust for experience from something snapped at thirteen, maybe an umbilical cord. Because then, ultimatums and agendas, clear as day in hearts.
Now snapped and running horrified.
Running exhilarated: plane tickets and aisle-sleep, jarred by feet. Knapsack of clothes bundled around a beyblade, a pillow. Money for emergencies only; calling home isn't. Nail polish chips, so don't bother. Clothes fray. Even clean, impressive, people smile back just out of greed.
No resentment; it's everyone.
Everywhere. Steam off tarmac. Once chicken feathers, but preferably hitching rides with produce. Lullabies by spinning wheels, or waves. Bumps, bit tongues, ditch-difficulties. Adventures. Neglected things. People and temples. The urge to pray a lot, what with the epic pretty.
Teammates as floating community. A leader even more snapped to follow, captain and God. Bajillionaire wrapped around his little finger, saying go on, enjoy it. I don't want anything in return. Liar, but worth voluntary orphanism: ideally world citizenship.
Rarely backwards momentum. Sometimes though, sincerity to nest in. Captain found this dojo. She found the side of this—white and gold and black… Some kinda tiger, probably extinct in the wild. Epic pretty, like the world, like home.