The Missing Piece

I was born in a city of glass.

A precocious learner, a restless spirit, the stage was set.

My palms still small, a gap between my front teeth,

One day I left my city.

Not by choice, but I was gone nonetheless.

Wide eyes turned wild, devouring everything in sight:

 Knowledge, adventures, people and places.

My ears followed suit, hearing the call and I fled once more.

I dived into blue, screaming the whole way down.

The scream turned into a sigh,

The blue into orange hills of clay and rock.

On the run again, but from what?

Life flew faster on a motorcycle, so I left the question alone.

The breeze burned and water tickled my spine.

I sunk below the surface.

His name I couldn't pronounce.

It didn't matter anyways.

More years, more passion and yet,

A piece missing.

The air was cold, my cheeks were numb,

But my heart was warm.

At last.

How good it felt to be home.