Making it Home

The sun is the orange orb in the sky lashing earthlings with heat this afternoon. I’m in a library supposedly reading, but the sweat beads covering my body have succeeded in distracting me from all such pursuits. The fans are at the highest, grass unkissed by winds stare at me from beyond wide-open windows, and I’m craving a tub. I would very much like to get out of these clothes and into a cold bath. I promise I would not close my eyes and enjoy the blissful coolness; no, I would continue reading. But wishes are not horses, and I’m left to desolate rambling on the internet.

Somewhere in the middle of my sadness I start to note Alsina’s lyrics, playing through my earphones.

If I don’t make it home tonight

Tell my Mamma that I love her,

Leave some flowers for my brother…

And I’m thinking: if I don’t make it home tonight, tell my Momma I’m home; in a tub somewhere.



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