Cracks in the kitchen, suitcases on the porch.

A lot of things were different when i returned. My window was broken and the graffiti on the wall said “Go Home”. But I was home, wasn’t I? Was my language lost? Were my lungs broken? Had my mind hardened? My tooth loosened? Did I leave my heart at one of those doctors? Uptown, downtown, some town somewhere along the way the long way there? Things change. There’s nothing in those suitcases, it’s all in the cracks.


I feel that if I go back that I will just go back in time and I will be sitting at the table in the small classroom with the studio art majors eating candy and learning about mounting pictures sitting beside Allison and Sherina and accidentally kicking Joel, wondering what in the world Ives is thinking. That I will just be walking to my car in the parking garage. That I will be sitting in Ives's basement with the bright spotlights on, wearing my green t-shirt waiting as he took pictures of me. That I will be sitting at my mom's computer downstairs in the kitchen with coffee beside me and checking my facebook in my pajamas one foot on the chair and a blanket around me. But my dreams tell me differently. I can't go back, I can only go back to the boring I was escaping. And I will have nothing to do. For I have had my exciting and I gave it up to come home.