Four years of college, four years of not coming home, and one bus that stops in a town where the lights come on at six.
"You're in the wrong seat,"
a voice behind you says, and you know it before you turn round.
Coming home is supposed to feel safe. Nobody warned you that he would be the first thing at the station, standing under the lamp with his hands in his jacket, waiting as if four years had been a coffee break.
They say coming home is supposed to feel safe. No one warned me he'd be waiting.