You can never go home again, or so I have read. With a slight nod in the direction of defeat, for the first time in three years I am inclined to agree. Home, my home, the hanging moss over the gravestones in the swollen, humid mist, the familiar voices over drinks and dinner, childhood a three hour trek away....it's all over, and I can't go back. I miss it in the cold nights, in winter. I miss having people who understand me, even though I'll never really think anyone does. That doesn't exist anymore and the sooner this idea is embraced, the easier it will be to move forward. Thank you New York, for showing me the cruel, harsh, traffic-ridden way. I will miss you. But not like that.