I just thought you should know
that I won't be coming home
tomorrow.
The smell of that place
is not the smell of home,
but of a cheap motel.
You are the lonely hotelier,
as I wander and gaze
at a place I should recognize,
but don't.
Maybe next time
the peeled wallpaper
and chipping tile
will be like the
walls I remember
wanting to climb.

I somehow doubt it.