#small town boys.... go listen to bronski beat n be gay idc

[delete-the-kisses]

the first sign of spring is the smokers, appearing on the park benches and the alleyway behind the supermarket.

people seem to hate this small town. they hate the drinking problems we don't talk about and the nuclear families, smiles as bright as their white picket fences. the teenagers hate it, especially; they hate the world because they know something about it others don't see. maybe the adults once did, and they just forgot.

i like the familiarity. the smoke of the factory, turning blue as the sun sets. the hill with a big rock on top of it, where people walk their dogs in the morning. the thrift store next to the convenience store, the mall with drunk people and kids who can't live at home anymore. the nicest kids i know.

taking the bus, i lean my head against the window, headphones in, world tuned out. i cross the bridge, the place where my old best friend lives, the apartment buildings and parks and shady asian restaurants, the bar that doesn't check ID at the door.

it's home. i could have much better. i could have london or paris or madrid or any great city. see flowers that don't grow on the dirt paths of my hometown.

see people who i don't know like the back of my hand.

call it stockholm syndrome, but i don't want to leave. i want to unravel this place at the seams, find the darker things, soak them in sunlight. i love how the flower field blooms in the summer, how the snow glows under the streetlights in the winter.

i'm full of love for something i can't grasp with no place to put it except here. small-town girls don't know how to love anything except the place that made them colder than ice, sharper than a razor.

everyone knows each other. everyone knows who goes to church and who doesn't. everyone knows who hangs out at the mall and who goes home.

comfort crowds, places to hide. they'll call me crazy when i don't want to leave.