there's a certain taste to the air,
in my lungs it comes clear,
ringing with truth.
on the exhale it's bitter,
musty with resentment.
the cloudy skies are not as comforting.
and every raindrop is another tear unshed.
but sometimes it feels alright, i feel alright.
and during those sometimes,
it's not a hurricane, or a monsoon.
but the dull hum of a sunday afternoon,
because that's what you always were.
you felt like home.