Most people round here were born here, like their parents and grandparents, and they stay, like their children and grandchildren. People do leave, but they don’t go far. They stay close enough to come home for Sunday lunch. They leave at least part of their heart here.
She left.
Took her suitcase, her dreams and all of her heart.
She was born here like the rest of us but she never really came from here. Her eyes always strayed to the horizon. She only ever smiled at her daydreams. Nothing here delighted her.
I hope she found her way home.
Tom Juniper Poetry 