I'll be home when I will.

I'm sitting on the corner of the bed, and I'm watching how naturally everything has falling into place since we made our home here. The cords to all the lamps coil into the burrows between the desk and the chest and the bed. The mirror has found the most upright position where it will never slip. All the clothes hang exactly down, centered and straight. I've inadvertently acquired so many southwestern prints that the room looks as much as a desert as is acceptable in the cold Northeast. There are spaces in the bookshelf where some are being read. Two people had lived here, and one is now sleeping in the living room and the other is sitting on the corner of their bed.

And as quickly as I came, I've gotta get out. Find my own home and build it in myself. Find in the Big Sur coast, and the desert monuments, and the southern porches this summer. And not in whiskey, or loneliness, or the same old songs over and over. The day is coming ever nearer!