(资料图片仅供参考)

this bed is made nicely.the sheets have beencarefully tucked underthe corners of themattress, there are nowrinkles in the blanket,the pillows are perfectlysquare with no stains,but it is not mine.

i have not criedinto this bedwhile worryingabout collegeand doctor visitsand fascism,i have not heldmy boy in this bedwhile whisperingi-love-yous to him,i have not made plansin this bed abouthow i'll go to collegeand be a famous writerand die alone in agarden.

the stars are not hiddenby the lights of people here,but i cannot lay in a clearingand admire them with my boy.the cool ocean breeze makesthe palm trees gently sway,but i do not feel embracedwhen i breathe it in.the people here laughat my jokes about hating sunscreen,but they will never seethe loneliness in my eyes at night.

we are hereto get away,but from what?

i will make a homethat i will neverwant to run from.

a home where i canreturn after a longday at school or workor the doctor's officeand breathe in thecrisp air outside andcuddle with my catin front of the tv andsip on a glass of coldtea and listen to anold chet baker recordand curl up with myboy at night and thinkto myself yes i am homeyes the world is beautifulyes i am no longer afraidto die yes