People come,

People go.

I will leave,

Yet my life won’t go.

Some people stay in this life,

I’m going to another,

Where the sounds of sirens at 2 a.m.,

And the night lit up like day, is home.

I want to walk to the corner coffee shop;

I want to hear the screeching wails of train cars on rails;

I want to smell the filthy smog;

I want to see streets flooded in people.

I am leaving Suburbia,

Where houses are copied and pasted on every street,

Where people say sorry for being in your line of sight,

Where life has no variety. It kills me.

But as the cub leaves his den forever the

Friends, with whom I share beloved moments--gone.

Family, with whom I spent my whole life--gone.

The house I grew up in as a kid--gone.

This life will be missed,

But I’ve come to understand

People come,

People go.