I’ve thought most often of how I hate it here

The oppressive heat

The stagnant, crushing air

My singular set of scarred hands

My blistering, disintegrating feet

The torn feeling of our home

And what home should be

The lack of familiar faces, friends I’ve had to find and construct

The surrounding strangers

Relationships I’ve sacrificed and opportunities I’ve ripped myself away from

The constant ache for anywhere but here.

But life without you, my sweet boy, would be much, much worse.