as the rain pours down on the streets and my clothes
and the cold wears me down to the very core
all i can do is remember and remember
the texture of your skin on the tips of my fingers
the softness in your hair, the harsh words you said
and the sensation of my blood on my hands

it wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last

there will be another house, another home
three bedrooms, two bathrooms
just like the last one, a different number
a different street
a different harshness underneath my feet
and my knees, but the same cold porcelain
and the same homesick feeling
i've felt for as long as i can remember