like glass
My white shirt is pasted to my skin from the rain falling in dime sized droplets and all i want to do is get home. my car smells of camels and dust, and now, wet hair. All the lights look enlongated on the road that looks like glass. can you see the future? i brush the rain, or maybe perspiration, from my forehead and squint my eyes hoping maybe it will help. the burning cigarette between my fingers was a better idea than it is a realization and god i just want to be home. i can almost feel the blankets and the dry socks. i can smell the room already, the way he makes it smell like sleep. that recycled air making the room stuffy and inviting. he is home.