I've never felt more at home

sitting with myself at a table for two 

crowded by giggling lovers and friends; 

some of them look at me with sympathy 

but I know that if you were here, we’d laugh harder than all of them 

​

I’ve been noticing rearview mirrors more – 

  the pieces of people hung up for protection while they drive

you always laugh at the cross on mine, 

because we both know I don’t believe in Jesus 

​

I used to be good with time alone 

– I preferred it, but now 

I feel suffocated when I try to sleep in an empty bed 

(especially if I know you’re out with your friends) 

​

and I hate that I miss you so much 

but I hate that I miss me more; 

and I hate that say the word hate now, 

because I just love you the most 

​

they’re selling birdhouses on the side of the street again 

and I love my hometown, 

but I’ve never felt more at home than when 

you kissed me in the new york city rain; 

and I know you will again soon