I've never been one to be into current events, but as the creased newspaper sat in my grip on the train ride to your mothers house in denver whilst your head lay on my shoulder; I swear we were something out of a sundance film and I felt at home for once. The autumn night muddling through the open window as the orange and yellow hues of the evening sky danced across my olive complexion. Your mother was so happy to see you when you arrived, but I stood like a fly on the wall in the doorway with my hands in my pocket as your father seized me up and decided I wasn't good enough for his little girl. You told me not to get too much in my head but, to tell you the truth, even I knew I was out of place; like a painting on the wall that was slightly crooked and you'd notice if you looked long and hard enough. The entire evening flew by without a word in edgewise by me as I toyed with my food and admired the trophies on the wall... shamelessly... there was plenty of them. Your dad noticed and talked for hours on end about them whilst I fiddled with my fingers before you held my hand to keep me steady. By a quarter after nine I was about ready to jump out of my skin, I've never wanted to disappear so fast. I hardly touched my food and my wine glass was empty for the third time. When we finally made it to the door I think you knew then that I longer felt the feeling of home I felt on The ride here and I wasn't one to pretend.
