Echoes of gas stations,
shitty coffee,
sunken eyes and unkempt hair
swarm my mind
as I drive down a desolate road
in the dead of winter.
My coffee, hot as all hell,
stains my shirt and burns my throat.
I was homesick
for an imaginary place.
I had been searching for my home
but nothing stuck,
nothing but loneliness, empty roads
and the taste of burnt coffee grounds-
maybe that’s my home now.
At least they can’t break my heart.
Lauren Hayden 