lace up your sneakers and roll up your jeans: your jeans 

are blue and worn in the knees because they’re your favorite

and the laces on your sneakers used to be white but now 

they are tinted brown from the dirt of the earth you walk through.

you step outside and take in the the scenery around you:

weak tangled trees and rusty parked cars line your street

and you breathe in and feel the crisp scent of leaves

and car exhaust in your lungs and you know

that you are home.

you take a step down the driveway:

your mouth still tastes like mint from the toothpaste

you brushed your teeth with and your bookbag on your shoulders weighs

a ton but you keep walking forward toward your car

that you bought on your seventeenth birthday.

you sit down in your car and start the engine: your favorite bracelet hangs around your wrist

and catches the light of the street lamps and shines and the cd player blasts

the same LP by The Smiths that you took from your dad two

weeks earlier and you instantly begin to bob 

your head to the sultry beat— you love when you know

what to expect.

you back out of the driveway: the air in your car 

is chilled and makes the hair on your arms stand

straight up but you don’t turn on the heat because you’re busy

dissecting the mysterious language of Morrissey and pondering

what your life would be like if you were just a little more

like a dream. But ideals will always just be ideals.

and maybe you do wear that bracelet too often, 

but what else are you supposed to do?