two nights ago,
my face pressed against the screen,
i breathed deeply.
most days back in brooklyn, that's all i want to do.
i'm not saying it's magic, but.
there is something about the midwestern air
that hit me
the literal second I walked off my plane.
i don't have to be in the middle of a field--
my parents' yard is enough.
i camped out beneath the window last night, reading,
incapable of pulling myself away.
it hurts the depths of me
in the best of ways
and reminds me