Cause this is everything I know: This couch, these walls, this bed. This is the dresser that was in my first bedroom. "This is our new life." I can hear your voice ringing in my ears and I want to wrap my fingers in yours.
Within one week, I have been up and down, North in South. I have seen some things that no one should ever seen, I have romped in the woods with my roomate and his dog. I am not proud of myself or my mistakes. I have seen the great swamps of the Merrimack River valley and the Tyger River, just 1200 miles South.
I am tearing through my phone. I am hanging on your words. I left my heart with you.
New England air, Boston is breathing through me like a blanket that fails to keep me warm. I am crying now, both hands on my backpack straps like the first day of school, walking through the terminal to the bus stop to do things I shouldn't know how to do, like get back to Lowell in 2 hours without a car. I'm on a train, the same ones I used to ride to work. I'm in North Station, Downtown Crossing, The Gallagher Terminal, hugging my arms from the cold air, wrapping myself in my best friend's arms. I'm so sorry I ever left.
In my mind I'm in Spartanburg, in a car, or outside a pool bar in a bad neighborhood watching the grainers rumble past, with my fist clenched and my hood on. You're telling me you love me. You're begging me to come home.
We're in Charlotte, North Carolina at 4 AM. I'm waking up on the floor in the airport. My whole body aches, and I'm sweating.
You're home in bed, warm. I'm trying to find home. I'm trying to cope with my mistakes.
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