“I think I’m coming home,” I said.
The dark poured in through the window like pitch. The receiver was ice in my hand. Slipping through my fingers.
“You’ve changed,” she said.
“I think It’s just that you’re seeing me from a different angle,” I said
You’ll see It’s just all the broken pieces Refracting the light You’ll see
I can’t see my face in the fogged up glass, but I know it’s me
“But, You’re coming home,” She said.
“Yes.” I said “It’s going to be OK”
To all of the young people on here (from someone a little further down the road) To all of the broken ones. Your brokenness is beautiful (We are all broken in some way) And you will find a way home.