November 17, 2005 | 11:12 p.m.
from here, you're home to me.

if what they say is true, if home is where the heart is. then he is more my home than this house which i have haunted going on ten years.

and in his arms,
train platforms full of broken glass and drunken laughs, have been home to me,
the woods, whether their trees were overgrown with green or emptied barely weeping dead leaves, have been home to me.

but everyone must some time grow up, move out, move on.
just move.