For Scooter Beau:

I stare through a Japanese man's writing, at a dead boy on the shore.
Not dead yet, but soon enough.
It's a transient world I see, nearly nobody lasting more than a year.
Why then, do I remain here?
Traveling does awaken something within, reminds us that we're alive and what exactly that means.
But I'm not really traveling anymore.

There's a family taking pictures on the beach. They all wear matching sky-blue shirts to show the world, 'we are the Kim family, and we are one.'
(this doesn't look so strange anymore)

I rode a packed subway here and every seat was filled except the two bordering me.
(this distance isn't so strange anymore)

I hear the word, 'dilligent' 10 times a day but
(it doesn't sound so strange anymore)

I'm perched atop Asia on familiar ground. I've created a home of sorts.
Stil, in every direction, I'm surrounded by the uknown.
And I know I must jump into the wind many more times before I make a nest.
For now, I wait and watch from a distance as Mother Nature strikes back in waves.