If you
take nothing else from this,
we all change.

Know,
you will leave this town one day
and the all the buildings,
and statues,
and concrete slabs
will miss you endlessly,
but you need life
and you will go
anyway.

I know
how home feels sometimes
and how
Sunday nights
feel like magic
especially on Monday mornings.

In four years,
home will mean something different.
A hand,
the smell of jasmine,
and your little lad
who looks so much like your wife
it will give you faith in the world.

Home
is where skies are always pink
and you are
always in bed
before the street lamps turn on
where
it is always sunny
and where
there will always be an
I love you
to be heard.

Most things equivocate change,
some evade it
all together.