Release
Same Rain

There’s a kitchen light on a road he doesn’t drive down. A man who never left. Two porch lights through the willows, and one rain falling on both.

There’s a kitchen light on a road he doesn’t drive down. A man who never left. Two porch lights through the willows, and one rain falling on both.
Six months of truck stop coffee, six months of midnight roads. One bar left, and then home.