Homesickness - Submarino

across the days there would be ways in which to fade out in the crowd

question of chance, or maybe of choice, or maybe just a state of mind

for a while

she’d put up with it

then, at night,

it would suddenly hit

she was the one who wouldn’t speak when she was listening to him

she was the one who wouldn’t breath unless she went away and screamed

on the bus

the shaking of strings

on her mind

the sound of the things

that would undermine

what was on his mind

that would undermine

the impending demise

that’s hanging over him

cold papercuts, no windowsills, and the delusions of space

the crack of time becomes a smell, and then a scent, and then no trace

she’s not home

there’s no home at all

she’s not old

she’s not old enough

but still she’s expecting

at times unrelentingly

to break her chord