i miss the home I grew up in
Around
On top of
On the roof where I smoked cigarettes and looked at stars through pine branches
On the hill things were built around us
Now the town is a ghost of memories,cherished and cursed
And painful like a burn or punch, or like the finality in the last sentence of a good book.
My parents never mentioned the cigarettes but they always knew and
Now we can't stop drinking
