If my hands ever forget
how to pull myself up,
send me back to our hometown
to break the same chains twice
and remind myself why cracked sidewalks and stone driveways
never filled me with the warmth of home.
Let me walk the familiar paths one last time,
until this place is just another town.

If my eyes ever lose
their tints of green in the corners,
take me back to the field behind your parents house,
where we used to sit for hours
and talk about when things would get easier
as we studied the sky.
Let me lay in the grass as it grows around my body,
until I’m wrapped inside the prickling blades
and my eyes turn hazel.

If my feet ever ache to leave
and tell me to run,
hold me back to remind me why I started over.
And traded our empty field for crowded streets,
amidst a sea of concrete.
Let me wander through this foreign city,
until my body becomes disconnected
from every tie of where we used to live.