“Then I come back here, and it feels like…” He lets loose a breath, eyes drifting shut. “It feels good. And I don’t understand that. I don’t understand how one place”—he flicks his eyes to me—“can feel like the starting point. Like my beginning. Because I didn’t grow up here. I hated coming here. But I got attached, and I miss it. I never wanted to, but I do. I miss it, and I miss you, and I don’t…”
