It’s remembering why you left
that reminds you why you’re here.
The pavement pulls on memories
like trying to pull your cat from his rest.
It’s painful because you want to forget.
It’s painful because you’d rather rest.
The cars still have a destination;
York to Butterfield.
The robins still sing with the railroad
at four in the morning.
The paint on the walls still reflect
what you were
but the bare nails remind you
that you’ve left.
The only thing thats changed is you.
The only thing that remains is this view.
In your mind,
in your heart,
on the streets,
in the park
at four in the morning
in the dark
of your old room.