“I don't want that.”

I wasn't there

To hear you say it

But it keeps replaying in my head.

I don't think she'll ever understand

What that means

And what that means to you.

She wants a house with a wrap-around porch

And a gazebo with a dome-shaped roof.

She wants two kids and a church

With stained-glass and oak pews.

You would become a nomad

If it meant you could keep running from your problems.

You want freedom and happiness

But don't know where to find it,

All you know

Is that

It's not here.

But I'm here, aren't I? I've grown up in this same

Same

Ever the same

Small town.

I learned to live with this same

Same

Oppressive bourgeois safety blanket.

I know you want to break free
But please don't break away from me.

Who else could understand

Why perfect has never been enough for you?

Who else could understand

The man behind the mask?

I know you like no other, my childhood friend, my small town hero.
Please don't make me forget you.