November 2, 2011
Fog creeps into the valley as the dew licks at the weed-lings below.
Hearts are torn between "Let's go." and "I want to go home."
Laughter and music fill the stairwells home.
voices are carried, loud, louder, gone.
Miles take us farther to mysterious locations.
It's weekends like these that are kept golden.
Yet is surreal to those who have never gone away.
Lame car games become the best idea's ever as the towns fly by the open window space.

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