It’s the same smell in the morning
When the humidity and the temperature is still bearable
And the locals are out and about
The cane sugar
The sun
The humidity
The red soil
The grass
The same drama
The fights
The tantrums
The screaming
I go across the world to come back to the same place
The despair
The waiting
The dependency
I sit around in cars
Looking out the window
There’s that dirty river
Fruits sold by the street
It’s so similar to the motherland
The market
The heat
The inner turmoil
It’s the same in Malaysia
and
Campo Grande
even though I have never been before
feels so familiar
My Maddy Travel 