Sadness is blowing all across the sidewalks here. This town is an old scar, worn on the arms of too-tough teenage skinheads. I don’t belong here anymore.
I tried to become someone who fades into the background here, just another curly head in a sea of Texas hair, but I’m too different to be the same. I come from water, brownstones, and seasalt air. I don’t belong here anymore.
And so I write letters back to Boston and empty homesickness into little paper cups, saving it for later. I can be alright here, growing up and meeting people I could’ve never imagined, if I want it. The question is, do I? I feel like I don’t belong here anymore.

Did I ever?