THE BOY WHO COULD GO HOME
You can go home now. You are done counting to fifteen. Of your dreams (he's had many) of beaches and angels and educating the dead on the ways of life, you are through. You are done with the smell you will never forget. Take the smell and save it somewhere inside where it will wait for its release on a day where a photograph sparks a memory and endure as it fills your nostrils like smoke.
You can go home now. You can put the fires away with the sand and the knowledge of what you have done. Everything you have wondered will now become. The waiting is over. This will be the first and the newest beginning you've ever had. This will be starting over.
You can go home now. Put her behind you along with the fires, the smell, the sand. Forget it ever happened. Remember the Spartan lifestyle and the 700. Remember bits of his flesh in your pockets…your hair…and being so long living inside your head.
You can go home now. I hope you have delays. I hope the trip is uncomfortable. I hope your back aches. I hope they lose your luggage. I hope there is nobody to greet you on landing. I hope these things because I know they will drown in the face of the moment she opens that door and sees you standing there.
My Less Than Secret Life: A Diary, Fiction, Essays