The weeds were in full bloom along the very edge of the streetline, where Morgan stood, his face twisted in a small frown. His long tee shirt was crooked off his shoulders, there were sniffles in his nose. He didn’t bother fixing himself, but stood there, very still, looking at the ground.

It had been a long while since he had seen nature the way he remembered it.

The world had broken Morgan’s heart before. Once. When he was very young. When he rode city buses with his lips pressed against the condensation and his eyes wide enough to dry out. He didn’t blink, didn’t want to miss not even one stretch of pavement streaking past. The world broke his heart as he left and there were shattered peices of what he thought love was about glittering the roadway from his small house at the edge of town to his new home halfway across the country.

He cried into his mother’s dress sleeve and she thought he just missed home, because he was too young to admit to her that his heart had fallen out. That he was afraid something cold and dead would grow in it’s place.

It had been a long time since he was back in the world. He bent down and pulled the weeds out and their thirsty dirt trickled through his fingers to the ground. Not even leaving a smudge. He wanted to cry, right there, under the street lamp and between the tall apartment buildings that shadowed the sun. Thick, wet tears dripped down his face because he was home.

And he finally knew it.

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