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I’m looking to the light display on the alarm clock, and the numbers are so worn down I can’t tell what time it is, ever. Aaron and I hold each other at arm’s length by the doorway and every once in a while it feels like I am about to fall into this stranger I’ve only known for.. I don’t know how long, I don’t know time very well. The carpet makes the thick air smell like beer, and someone is peeling a banana from the wrong end, and everything makes perfect sense because Passion Pit is playing in the background.
In his fading English accent he tells me, “I’ve travelled the fucking globe.” Like the world is a disappointment. “I can be halfway across the planet and still remain close to people. But Massachusetts always feels so goddamn far.”
And that is enough to make me understand, because vagabond hearts communicate faultlessly.
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