Not a care in the world was met with gem toned land, and the skies alike. A destination? Non-existent.
To roam without a cause and to dream above the clouds feels like home. It’s what we were meant to do, and looking back bares no options.
The technicolor fractals of life race in and out of the mind. To worry is to sin, so we let those fall behind, left in the dust of the wind that moves us forward.
We drive. We see. We love.
We’ll meet you at the horizon.