Returns

The city looks the same. The streets. I try to muster up an ounce of nostalgia, but the tram passes my old house without incident. It is what it always was. I know it too well to miss it.

The table gets longer, the chairs amass. Beautiful souls at every turn as the noise of the bar picks up. Familiarity such a luxury for the homeless. I know them too well to miss them, too.

I left this city. I left all that I had built, all those years and the foundation I fought so hard to secure. It doesn't matter.

I guess that's the thing about foundations. Once they've set properly, they remain, regardless.